Beautiful Mind
by FrostxBite
Summary: The infected have always been viewed as mindless, emotionless creatures that will do anything to feed in order to survive. However, when one witch proves against the stereotype, tension begins to rise between two groups of survivors. WitchxZoey
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys, this is my first story on this site. Please give me reviews! I want to know how I can make this better (Or if I should keep on going in the first place haha) Well, enjoy!

The skies were dark, only illuminated by what little light the moon and stars could generously donate behind a sea of foreboding clouds. The air was cool and damp, rigged with the scent of rotten flesh of those that were dead, and those that were undead. The asphalt of the street was cracked and stained with blood that told stories of past ventures and lives of other survivors. Who knew where they were now. Not a single lamp post on the sidewalk was lit—the electricity had gone out long before. It was a forsaken, hell-on-earth town that resembled a city of anyone's worst nightmare. It was New York City, five weeks after the infection had cleared it out.

Only four bodies moved slowly down the streets, their footsteps amplified against the otherwise dead silence. Ever single pebble their shoes graced, every single leaf their weight crushed, seemed to echo endlessly off the buildings that surrounded the forlorn road.

Guns trained in every direction, the four humans tiptoed their way deeper and deeper into the heart of the city, moving towards the radio station that they had spotted a couple days ago. Those days of walking and hiding had finally paid off—it was in plain sight now, only a day away at the pace they were going.

The flashlight on Nick's AK-47 darted in and out of the buildings that he shone it into, revealing the shattered windows and splintered tables and chairs that seemed to be a common trait among every one they passed. The city was in horrible condition—in times such as those, the worst in people really came out. Riots, murder, and thievery became common in the last few days that the city was alive. Those who were smart fled the city… those who weren't… were either dead or infected.

Motion came to an abrupt halt. Nick looked forward of the formation to find their point man, Coach, with his head craned up higher in the air, his Remington 870 Marine Magnum shotgun resting with its nozzle to the ground by his side. "Hold up," his cautious whisper came, sending chills down Nick's spine. "Ya'll hear something?"

Nick turned his head to his right to exchange nervous glances with Ellis, the boy that he had somehow become used to. His blue and white cap turned away with his face as he scanned the buildings to the right of the formation, where he had been placed. Nick quickly returned to his duties and scanned the buildings to his left carefully, using his flashlight as a guide as he kept his ears open.

"I think I hear it too," a female voice came from the rear.

Nick turned around to see that Rochelle, the only girl in their group, had her eyes wide with fear as she locked eyes with each of them, one after the other.

"Sounds like a hunter," she finished her statement as she raised her gun, an MSG90A1 sniper rifle, to her shoulder, preparing for the unknown.

It was only then that the sound distinguished itself in Nick's ears. However, it wasn't the usual low pitched, throaty growl that the hunter normally gave off. Instead, of was the sound of choking, followed by a faint cough that seemed to come on top of one of the buildings he was responsible for watching. He immediately snapped his AK to the location, lining up the sights and aiming where he predicted the creature would come. "Doesn't sound like a hunter to me," Nick informed his teammates in a low tone. "Sounds more like a smoker."

"Then I don't know what the hell you're hearing," Coach's nervous voice came. "Let's just hope that one of you two is wrong."

However, much to his disappointment, the low-pitched growl of the hunter caught Nick's ears. He grimaced as he gripped his gun even tighter, not taking his eyes off the area that he hoped the Smoker would peek his ugly head around. "Nope, I heard that one. They're both out there."

"Well then? What're we waitin' for?" Ellis asked in his normal cheery tone. "Let's keep movin' and gun down those sons-of-bitches when they rear up at us."

"Ellis is right," Nick sighed, despising himself for agreeing with the boy. "We're wasting time. Keep your trigger finger itchy and let's move."

No one in the mood to argue, the four survivors continued to move down the street, more cautiously than ever. The pair of infected must've been taunting them… the sounds of their own movement and their growls followed them closely.

Nick began to feel more and more on edge as the minutes passed that the pair stalked them. Finally, unable to take the pressure any longer, he threw his head up into the air and shouted, "C'mon, ya zombie bastards! What are you waiting for?"

"Nick!" Coach's immediate hushed bark came. "What the hell you doin'? You trying to get us all killed?"

Nick opened his mouth to respond-

-"I can't move! HELP!"

The three survivors turned immediately to the panicked screams.

Nick's body froze up for a split second as he saw that Ellis was lassoed in a smoker tongue that was dragging him backwards towards a building on the right. But how was that possible? The smoker was on the left!

Deciding that here was no time to deduct, Nick snapped his gun up and traced the long, slimy tongue back to the top of the building. However, much to his disappointment, the tongue disappeared over the edge of the roof and out of sight. The smoker had moved back to stay out of the sight of gunfire.

Damn bastards were getting smarter.

"Shoot the tongue!" Ellis's terrified cries came as he dropped his gun and desperately clawed at the sidewalk to no avail—the smoker was still pulling strong. "SHOOT THE TONGUE!"

Nick immediately trained his gun on the section of tongue that he made sure was far away enough from Ellis's head and began to delicately squeeze the trigger.

Something caught the corner of his eye to his right. Nick snapped his head to the motion just in time to hear the ear-piercing shriek of the hunter as it leaped for him, its long claws extended, itching for the feeling of flesh.

Nick did what he could with what little time he had left and dodged backwards. However, the hunter was too fast and still managed to smash the AK-47 with one of its claws. Nick yelped in surprise as the gun was knocked out of his hand and sprawled onto the floor. The hunter's momentum still in motion, it continued forward to sprawl on Coach instead, who let out a scream of surprise as he was tackled backwards.

"'Shelle!" Nick screamed as he ran forward and swept the gun back into his hands in one graceful motion. "Get Ellis!"

"Get this thing off me!" Coach's scream pierced Nick's ears. The hunter was tearing away at the man's flesh, digging its razor sharp claws into his chest. The man could only flail as he tried to shove the hunter away, but to no avail. "Get it off!"

Nick closed the distance between the two in the blink of an eye, driven by adrenalin. Once close enough, he took a large step forward and punted the hunter as hard as he could in the ribs. The creature shrieked as it toppled off of Coach and sprawled to the ground, giving Nick just enough time to snap his AK-47 up, aim it at the recovering creature, and pull the trigger.

The gun bucked violently in his hand as the heavy caliber rounds tore through the hunter's blue sweatshirt and right into its rotting flesh. Nick finally let off of the trigger after a healthy burst of ten rounds, panting from the adrenalin as the hunter twitched once before lying still on the ground, blood pooling around it.

"C'mon, big guy," Nick said urgently as he reached down and offered his hand. "We need you a live a little longer."

Coach reached out and took his hand tightly in his, allowing Nick to struggle against the bigger man's weight as he pulled him to his feet. "Thanks, I owe you one."

Nick flinched as Coach's smile immediately disappeared into a grimace of terror as he lifted his finger over Nick's shoulder and screamed, "Look out!"

Something grabbed the back of Nick's head and covered his eyes. The sound of sick, maniacal laughter filled his ears as the cold, mushy undead flesh pressed itself against his neck. Immediately, the creature began to tilt in different directions, causing Nick to follow its motions as if a puppet.

"Somebody get this thing off my back!" he screamed as loudly as he could, blinded to the world as the Jockey led him wherever it pleased. "Get it off me!"

The sounds of frantic footsteps began to rush towards him as the Jockey continued to lead him away. Nick fought against its influence as hard as he could, attempting feebly to move in a direction opposite of where the creature was taking him. If there was one thing he learned about Jockeys in the past, it was that they enjoyed leading their victim to something dangerous. The last time Nick had been taken by one of the bastards, he'd found himself staring down the edge of a cliff after Rochelle had managed to knock the creature off.

What seconds passed that he was blinded and under Jockey control felt like hours. Finally, the sound of a butt of a gun smashing against the creature's spine sang into Nick's ears. The Jockey screeched as it fell off of his back, to which Nick immediately turned, lifted his gun, and blasted the bastard with five rounds in the face. Blood squirted out of its shattered skull and ripped skin and muscle as it fell to the ground, rolling on the massive hump on its back before lying still.

Nick panted violently, a smile spreading across his lips a she stared down victoriously at the dead creature. "That's what you get when you mess with me," he taunted as he spat down at the motionless mound of flesh.

He then looked back up to Coach, Rochelle, and Ellis, who were standing outside the door of the building that the Jockey had led him into. However, instead of a face of celebration, they were staring in terror at the ground behind him. Nick narrowed his eyes in confusion, then traced their expression and turned around-

-"Shit!" he yelped in surprise as he jumped backwards, nearly falling onto his ass.

There, behind him sat a witch. She sat on her ankles, her head turned towards him as its red eyes pierced into his soul. Her cold, pale flesh gleamed in what moonlight filtered into the building's shattered windows. The witch remained silent as it stared at him in the face.

Nick felt his blood run cold as he lost all sensation in his face and arms. All he could do was slowly back up, afraid that he had already startled it. He had seen the remnants of other survivors that had managed to get unlucky enough to run into one of those bitches. They normally ended up in piles of flesh, no piece remaining that was larger than a baseball.

However, she did not attack.

The witch remained dormant, its face demonstrating no form of hostility. She simply stared at Nick with her deadly eyes, almost observing his movements as he stepped back to his friends.

"Why isn't she growling at us?" Rochelle's whisper came from behind him. Nick refused to take his eyes off the witch. "Shouldn't she be pissed?"

Nick flinched as the witch switched her attention from him to Rochelle, who gasped as she stepped backwards. However, it still remained quiet, its eyes wide with curiosity as the two sides stared each other down.

"Well?" Ellis's whisper came next. "We can't just leave it here. Who knows how many poor souls this bitch killed. I mean, look at its claws. She ain't even moving as she still looks all vicious-like. It was like that one time my buddy Keith and I saw this real cute-looking raccoon, but when we came up to pet it, it-"

"Now is really not the time, Ellis," Coach cut the boy off.

"Okay… just wanted to tell you guys, I know about this kind of shit. They'll sit and look all cute until you get comfortable, then they'll rip your eyes out."

Nick stared at the witch, who was still switching her attention to each of the talking survivors. She seemed different from any of the other witches he had encountered before… but how? And why wasn't this one as sensitive as the others? Just a few seconds ago, he had been literally a foot away from where she was sitting. Normally it only took a good wave of the flashlight to piss a witch off and provoke it into attacking. What was with this one?

"Well, it's infected, right?" Coach asked rhetorically as he stepped forward beside Nick. "Attacking or not, this thing's gotta go down. If we don't kill it, someone else is gonna run into it on a bad day. I ain't gonna live with that on my conscious."

As if the witch understood what Coach had said, its body tensed up, its razor sharp claws pressing nervously on the ground.

"Hold on, Coach," Nick muttered as he narrowed his eyes at the witch. "I think it understood you."

"It's a zombie, Nick," Rochelle rejected his theory. "It's just a blood hungry zombie like the rest of them. They can't understand what we're saying."

"She tensed up when you threatened to kill her," he pursued his case. "This one's different. Are you guys really stupid enough not to see that?"

"Hate to say it Nick," Ellis's southern drawl came, "but Ro's right. This witch is just another one. Let's kill it and get out of here."

The witch tensed again as the threat was made. Nick opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly silenced as the sound of a shotgun's heavy cocking was made. He turned his head to the side to find that Coach was pointing the gun's barrel at the witch, who was now slowly easing onto her feet, her eyes wide with terror as she stared down what could've been her death.

"Don't do it, Coach," Nick warned in a voice as demanding as he could make it. "Listen, it's not a normal witch, it would've attacked us by now. It was listening to you. It was listening to all of us. Normal zombies don't do that!"

"I ain't gonna take a chance, Nick," he responded sternly, not taking his eyes off the sights. The barrel lined itself up with the witch's head. "She's just another witch."

As if the witch sensed Coach's tensing finger, she ducked low right as he pulled the trigger. The deafening blast of the shotgun echoed off the walls, which was immediately combined with the witch's high-pitched wail.

"Shit!" Nick screamed as the witch began to charge at them, her long, razor claws out by her sides as she sprinted. "You idiot!"

This was it—this was the end. There was no way Coach could load another shell into the chamber and fire at her at the rate she was moving. One of them was going to die today-

-the witch reached out her hand, but instead of slicing straight through Nick's flesh like butter, pushed him to the side, as well as Coach, creating an opening for her to run through. Shaken beyond all belief, Nick's legs gave out from underneath him, causing him to stumble to his ass as the witch made the same motion to shove past Rochelle and Ellis, who yelped in surprise.

Her shrieks of distress continuing, Nick only watched as the witch covered her face with her hands and ran off down the street.

"Bitch cut me!" Rochelle's furious scream came as Nick scrambled back to his feet. He jumped out of the shattered window to find that the witch was still retreating down the city streets, sprinting at an inhumane pace-

-a loud gunshot rigged the air.

Nick gasped as the witch's left shoulder twitched forward, a burst of blood blowing clean out the front of her arm from how the bullet had entered and exited. She let out a loud, shrill shriek as she staggered forward a few steps, only to be greeted by another sniper shot to the side. The bullet nearly knocked her off her feet, but with a determination that Nick had never seen before, she continued to slowly press on, her sprint now turning into an injured jog.

"That's it, bitch," Rochelle's malignant growl came. "I got you in my sights. This one's going straight into your head."

Nick had to react.

Immediately, he turned to Rochelle beside him and slapped the gun on the side as hard as he could. The sniper discharged, sending a stray round into the wall of a building somewhere away from the witch that had just turned a corner and disappeared out of sight.

"What are you doin, Nick?" Rochelle demanded in rage as she dropped the scope from her eyes and glared at him. "Which side are you on?"

"She didn't attack Coach, and she didn't attack any of us," Nick argued strongly as he locked eyes with her. "If you're going to shoot something that doesn't have any intention of fighting back, you're the monster, Shelle."

Behind the two, Coach sighed loudly like a cross mother. "Alright, you two, that's enough. But Nick, if that witch comes back and kills one of us, you'll meet your maker real soon. You got that?"

Nick sighed as he turned back to face where the witch had disappeared out of sight, his mind processing a thousand thoughts at once. However, even through his limitless questions, he still managed to sound off with a weak, "Yeah. Got it."


	2. Chapter 2

_Well, I think people liked chapter one, so I wanted to continue ^^ Hehe, here's chapter two! Enjoy and please review! I want to know if there's anything I should work on, or if I should just stop while I'm ahead ;P_

The others waited in silent anticipation for Bill to judge the bloodstain that caked the asphalt road. Bodies of zombies were littered around the street, their mouths agape in a permanent, silent screech. Rotting teeth and decaying gums were displayed inside of their mouths, matching the blistered flesh and torn skin that they wore. The smell was horrible; it was the scent of the _dead_ undead rotting. However, the smell had become familiar, and therefore no longer triggered anyone's gag reflexes. Couldn't say it was the same for when they had originally arrived…

"Yep, it's old alright," the Vietnam veteran finally declared as he stood back up, groaning as he did. He turned back towards the others, his experienced eyes scanning over theirs. "But it hasn't been more than a couple of days. There are still survivors out there besides ourselves."

"Oh yeah?" Francis's rough, forceful voice came. "If there are other survivors out here, why can't we hear their gunshots?"

"The city's huge, Francis," Zoey answered for him as she ran her finger along her holstered Colt 1911 MEU. The cold metal brought her reassurance as she looked around the massacre of bodies. "They could be shooting right now on the other side of this city and we wouldn't even know."

Francis grimaced as he shook his head. "I hate large cities."

"Is there anything you don't hate?" Bill's annoyed voice came before he sighed. "Alright, kids, let's get a move on. We don't want to be stuck in one place for too long."

No arguments came as Bill began to lead the way, his M-16A4 held at rest in his hands. Zoey followed after him, her fingers clutched around a hunting rifle with the barrel pointed down. From the looks of it, the area had already been cleared out. There was no longer a real need to stay on full alert. However, she did keep her eyes and ears open, just in case.

Louis followed next, his Uzi gripped tightly in his right hand, waving casually by his side. Finally, Francis brought up the rear with his M1014 Automatic Shotgun slung over his shoulder casually.

The late hours were beginning to come to an end as the moon lowered itself in the sky, coming to the darkest part of the night. With visibility at a minimum, Zoey made sure to keep her other senses alive and working, despite the fact that she, as well as everyone else in the group, were tired from walking since sundown.

Their target? A radio station that they had discovered in the center of the city. Where there were radio stations, there was communication. A helicopter flight out of the abandoned city was nothing short of a dream come true. Unfortunately, that "dream come true" was a couple days away by foot at the pace they were moving. They had chosen a routine that involved resting during the day and moving at night. Unfortunately because of the weather conditions that had fallen upon New York City after the infected took over, the daytime sun tended to be sweltering and unbearable. Though it seemed dangerous to move at night when the zombies could attack from the shadows, it was even more dangerous to move during the day if everyone was tired after a few steps.

"Whoever it is that's leaving all these bodies behind are beating us to the radio center," Francis groaned. "Why are we moving so damn slow?"

"Because the infected move like we do, Francis," Bill answered impatiently, tired of the biker's constant moaning. "It's not like sweeping a floor; they do come back and occupy the same areas."

"And unless you want to get killed running out there and paying no attention, I suggest you stay at the pace," Louis added. He chuckled. "Or is the tough biker going to show us that he hates teamwork, too?"

Francis remained silent in defeat as Zoey giggled at his stubbornness. "C'mon, Francis, lighten up," she comforted. "We'll be there in no time."

"Yeah, whatever," he blew off with a sigh.

Another hour of silent walking passed as everyone remained on their toes, regardless of the zombie-less stroll that had been occurring. The moon was fully out of sight, and the horizon was beginning to turn into a lighter shade of blue.

"Time to wrap up, kiddies," Bill addressed them in the normal fashion. "We need to find a place to stay and some supplies."

The four survivors' eyes scanned the area around them as the forward march came to a hold.

"There," Louis called as he pointed towards a broken down gas station market. The windows had been broken in and the lights were dead, but inside of it was definitely food and water from what they could see. "We'll camp there for the day. They've got to have some kind of basement or something where we can hide from the infected and the sun."

"Sounds good to me," Bill approved with a nod. "Alright, Louis and I will scout out the gas station. Zoey and Francis, you two scavenge around the immediate area for any useful supplies and maybe some ammo if you can find it. Stay close—I don't feel like having blood on my hands tonight."

"Keep your pants on, grandpa," Francis teased with a light laugh. "There haven't been any zombies alive for miles. We'll be fine."

"That's the kind of attitude that'll get you killed, son," the vet groaned. "Just don't do anything stupid."

With a nod of departure, Zoey turned away and lifted her gun to her shoulder as she approached the left side buildings of the street, allowing Francis to take the right. Her eyes scanned all around as she kept her gun trained on the first building that she approached—it was a bar, broken down and musty as all the other buildings in the area. The doors were stuck open by a jam of splintered wood and shattered glass, allowing her to enter with her hands on her weapon. However, once she saw how small the room was, she quickly slung the hunting rifle onto her back and drew her Colt, flicking on the flashlight before moving any further.

The beam of light scanned over shattered bottles of alcohol and wine, along with broken and chipped glasses that were as dusty and filthy as the rest of the room. The majority of the shelves in the bar were broken in half, the contents that they once held spilled out on the floor.

Zoey ignored the scenery and flashed her light around carefully, making sure to use the rim of the light as much as she could in case there were any witches. She'd heard what those infected did when they were flashed by light, and even startled one herself. It wasn't something she was keen on at all. Though she didn't hear any crying, she would rather be safe than sorry… _real_ sorry.

Once she was sure there were no infected in the bar, Zoey allowed her body to relax as she began to rummage through every room for anything that might've been useful to the group as they slept for the night. However, much like most of her other searches, there was nothing that stood out.

Shaking her head in little disappointment, Zoey exited the bar and moved down another building to repeat the nerve-wrecking process.

Nerves slowly became confidence as she scouted the next fifteen buildings, each one turning up just as empty and useless as the last. No supplies, no zombies… she guessed it was better than the alternative of having both.

Zoey sighed as she approached the last building on her area, her gun now rested comfortably down by her side. She flicked on the flashlight underneath her Colt and entered the dusty, ruined clothing store through the door that had been broken down. The beam of the flashlight fell over the walls to find that various clothing items were still hanging, though most of them had been knocked down along with the stands that had been kicked over. Everything from shirts to jeans were scattered on the floor, their materials torn and ripped from the trampling that must've been afflicted during the initial infection.

Zoey's eyes scanned the shelves as she looked for any form of something to bring back to the gas station for the night—she didn't want to return empty handed. The last time that had happened, Francis had harassed her for the entire night, telling her that she wasn't "trying hard enough". That was the last thing she wanted to deal with before falling asleep.

However, much to her disappointment, the search turned up nothing. She checked all the dressing rooms and dug underneath the piles of toppled clothing, hoping that one of them was hiding something beneath the materials. There was just nothing that would provide useful to the team that night—she would have to go back empty handed.

Sighing as she slumped her shoulders in defeat, Zoey rolled her eyes and turned around, walking back to the door that had so graciously let her in-

-a crack.

A crack from the darkness caused Zoey's entire body to freeze up, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She immediately whirled around and snapped her flashlight back into the building, scanning the floor. There couldn't be anything in there… no… it had to be just her imagination. She had checked out every last corner of the store and it was empty.

No… not every last corner.

Zoey's shaky hand slowly moved to the counter where a cash register lay toppled over, its drawer ejected and its dividers empty. She hadn't checked behind the desk… there was something there.

Zoey felt her stomach rush to her throat, making it extremely difficult to breathe. However, she swallowed hard, trying to regain her nerves, and pointed the shaking pistol towards the counter where she slowly advanced. Keeping her gunpoint trained on the front of the checkout stand, Zoey tiptoed as far as she could towards the wall in an attempt to see behind the counter while being as far away as possible. However, no matter how hard she pressed herself against the walls, the counter still hid what surprise it had behind it. It was angled so that the back corner of the store was protected by it… what luck.

Gathering up what strength she could muster, Zoey held her breath and moved slowly towards the counter, the anticipation making her heart beat twice as fast. There was no going back now—she was turning the corner of the counter, and with a final push, peeked her head and gun around it-

-time seemed to stop as Zoey lost feeling in her entire body. Her heart skipped a beat and her skin turned clammy as she was immediately held stiff, paralyzed by fear as her flashlight skimmed over what had made the glass crack behind the counter. The hands that held the gun shook violently, causing the beam of light to waver almost uncontrollably.

It was a witch.

Zoey had pointed her flashlight at a witch. Now, the creature would get off her place on the ground, scream, and attack her. She didn't stand a chance… not with the witch's superior speed and razor sharp claws. She was done for… she was…

No crying?

Zoey snapped her flashlight off of the witch, but kept the side of the beam close enough to where the girl was slightly still illuminated.

That's right… there was no crying. The witches normally cried when they were near. Why was this one remaining completely silent?

Zoey had to force all the stereotypes out of her mind in order to finally clear up her eyes and see exactly what was going on.

There, on the ground, was definitely a witch. The pale skin, the white hair, the blood red eyes, the razor sharp claws… there was no mistaking it. However, this one wasn't crying… she remained silent. And she wasn't sitting up on her ankles like every other witch Zoey had encountered. Instead, she was lying on the ground on her side, her entire body trembling as she stared back at Zoey with her own deadly eyes. But the eyes didn't show any kind of hatred, rage, or even distaste at the human. The witch was simply staring back at Zoey, unmoving as her eyes resembled some form of… pain?

_No, _Zoey thought to herself as she gripped her Colt tightly and pointed the barrel of the gun right at the witch's head. _Zombies don't feel pain. They're already dead… they only know how to kill and eat. This one's no exception._

The flashlight that shook violently over the witch's body caught a glare on something that reflected right back into Zoey's eyes. She flinched as the glint disappeared immediately, but was quickly replaced by another sharp reflection on another part of the witch.

"What the…?" Zoey muttered as she squinted.

It was only then that she realized why the witch was lying so still.

All along the witch's body were deep gashes, blood slowly seeping out of them. The things that had reflected the lights off her body were shards of broken glass, jagged and jammed inside of her skin. Two bullet holes rigged the surface of her flesh, one in her shoulder and the other one in her side. A trail of blood made its way down the girl's pale skin and onto the floor beside her. The witch was breathing, but her breaths were labored and weak. Her chest slowly rose and fell, though with every single inhale, her body shook violently.

Zoey stared in disbelief as she noticed on the ground that razor sharp pieces of broken glass led up to where the witch was currently lying. Without taking her pistol off the girl, she snapped her head behind her to find that the glass shards were from the shattered windows of the store. The witch must've dragged herself inside of the building across the floor, cutting herself up while she went to crawl up behind the counter and die… or… hide-

-the witch groaned, causing Zoey to suddenly tense up as she seized the pistol with both of her hands, keeping the sights trained on the infected girl's head. It was a weak groan, one filled with suffering and what sounded like the fear Zoey had so recently rejected.

Slowly, the creature reached a shaky, clawed hand out away from Zoey's position. The fingers dug weakly into the carpeted ground, and with a grimace of pain, the witch tried to pull herself away. Her eyes squeezed shut as she repeated the process, only moving an inch or two at a time. Was she… running away?

Zoey narrowed her eyes. What was going on? Why was the witch running from _her_? Shouldn't it have been the other way around?

However, it was right there in front of her. The infected girl was desperately trying to make her way away from Zoey's gunpoint that she held fixed.

Only five times of the witch's attempt to move drained her completely. Her body and arm dropped limp to the floor, and she panted violently, the once-clotted wounds now bleeding freely from the strain on her body.

What was this feeling that was creeping into Zoey's chest? It was painful… but it wasn't a stabbing pain. It was a pain that felt as though a rock was pressing against her heart. It couldn't have been… pity, could it?

What she was seeing before her was everything against what she had learned in the past about normal infected by firsthand experience. The infected creatures were bloodthirsty, flesh-hungry creatures that would stop at nothing until death to satisfy the need for human meat. They showed no emotions, no pain, and no fear when they charged anyone. Even when they were shot, it seemed as though nothing seemed to register. The only reaction they would give would be a twitch, and that was only from the momentum of the bullet.

What was this witch doing?

Desperately, with her eyes half-open, the witch's fingers dug into the ground. Her muscles tenses in her arms, a display of her attempt to escape further, but her body refused to move. Zoey could only watch with a feeling she was afraid to call pity as the witch tried time and again to move further from the gun. However, after numerous failed attempts, she finally breathed out loudly and allowed her arm to rest.

A whimper escaped her mouth. Zoey flinched as she paused a second to make sure she had heard correctly. After only a moment, a second whimper passed through the witch's lips. The sound was full of fear and desperation as she stared down the point of the pistol. Her red eyes then switched to Zoey's own, who winced backwards for an instant as if expecting the wounded witch to attack. However, she remained on the ground where she lie, motionlessly relaying her pain.

Zoey knew she had to do it.

Slowly, shaking as she did, she moved her pointer to the trigger and embraced it with her inner finger, its curved figure comforting her. Zoey took a deep breath as she began to squeeze on the ridged trigger-

-the witch closed her eyes.

Zoey immediately released her grip from the trigger as the witch moaned lightly and closed her eyes, as if waiting for the inevitable end.

No… there was something wrong with this one. Everything she did was a complete contradiction to any other witch… any other infected out there. This witch… this _person_… she felt pain. She felt the anguish of the glass shards in her body and the fear of staring down the trigger. She felt helplessness as Zoey held the gun to her head, and now, her eyes opened in a feeling of relief as she looked to find that the trigger was no longer under tension.

The witch's weak eyes moved slowly from the gun to Zoey's eyes, where she stared for a moment before letting her gaze fall upon the ground before her.

"You…" Zoey muttered softly. "What are you?"

The witch slowly looked back at her, then to the pistol in her hands. Zoey looked down at the Colt for herself, and then realized why the infected girl's eyes were still scared. In order to have the flashlight on her, Zoey had to point the pistol at her. _Stupid mistake… duh. _

Realizing what she had done wrong, Zoey quickly began to work at the flashlight's locks on the bottom rail of the Colt. The light came undone with a small "click" sound that echoed through the silence of the store. She held the light pointed at the witch as she placed her gun on safety and holstered it, taking it out of sight.

Only after the gun was clipped into the holster did the witch's eyes drop back to the ground. Suddenly it was as if she had forgotten Zoey was there now that the gun was no longer a threat. The creature breathed weakly, her eyes slowly glazing over as if expecting death at any second.

Zoey felt her heart wrench at her chest as it screamed at her to help the witch out. But it was a witch… the same kind of infected that could kill her at any second if it chose to. Why should she help it live? _For_ all she knew, it would come back and nip her in the ass later.

There was something… something different about the witch. Zoey couldn't even find words herself to explain it. But how the girl looked… how she acted… how she was… there was something very different about her. And that difference… was what compelled Zoey to wanting to help her.

Taking a deep breath and shaking her head free of all the thoughts and doubts, Zoey slowly leaned forward, moving carefully as not to startle her. However, the witch's eyes immediately snapped open wide in fear as she watched the human girl come closer. Her pale, skinny body began to tremble as Zoey scooted her legs in closer, closing the distance between the two.

The witch quivered violently, her breaths cold and hard against Zoey's knee. She shivered, but disregarded the unusual feeling and began to slip the first aid kit off her back and dropped it off on the ground beside herself. The witch's eyes napped nervously from the kit to Zoey's eyes, then back, as if unsure about what the box contained.

"It's… it's going to help you," Zoey tried to comfort.

_What am I saying? _Zoey mentally kicked herself in the ass. _This girl doesn't understand you… she's infected. She doesn't understand a thing I'm saying. I might as well be talking to Francis. _

However, much to her disbelief, the witch moaned hopelessly as she allowed her eyes to fall upon the ground once again.

Did she really just understand her?

Zoey shook off the thought—it was just coincidence.

As quietly as she could, she unzipped the red container and pulled the two halves apart, revealing the medical tools, bandages, and medicines inside. Her eyes scanned across the pieces until she found the tweezers she was looking for. Zoey grabbed the cold metal tool in her right hand and looked back at the witch, who was staring in terror at the device as though it were another kind of gun. The human took a deep breath before slowly moving the pair of tweezers towards the first shard of glass that she found buried inside the witch's side near the bullet wound. The room tensed as Zoey's imagination ran wild with the possibilities of what the infected girl could do from this close if she so chose to. However, she pressed on with the task, her shaking hand finally placing the metal instrument's prongs around the shard.

The witch flinched before beginning to give off strained whimpers, her chest rising and falling at a quick pace.

"This is going to hurt just a bit," Zoey tried to comfort.

Before the witch could respond, she gave a quick jerk on the tweezers, sliding the glass out of the pale flesh and dropping the bloody piece onto the floor. Zoey immediately looked back to the infected girl's face to find that she was staring almost non-believably at the shard on the ground. She wasn't expecting it to be so quick.

"See?" Zoey said as she forced a smile onto her face, despite her terror. "Easy."

The witch remained silent as the tweezers moved to another glass shard and yanked it out just as easily. Zoey went about her work—there were at least seven sharp pieces of glass on the ground when she was done, ranging from the size of her palm to the size of a penny. However, what mattered was that they were all out of the girl's body.

Zoey then inspected the bullet wounds. Luckily enough, both the shots had managed to enter and exit, which meant there was no need to fish around underneath the witch's skin to pull them out. Sighing with relief, Zoey reached into the first aid kit, dropping the tweezers back down, and pulled out a roll of white medical tape. She then looked back to the witch and said, "I'm going to need your help… can you…" Zoey grimaced as she realized she was trying to communicate to the witch. "Umm…" She began to make rising motions with her hands as she leaned forward and backwards. "Sit up? Sit?"

The witch's eyes closed as she began to make straining sounds… she understood. Zoey could only watch as the girl slowly pushed herself up with all the energy she had left, using her arm as a prop as she came to a leaning sit. She then turned to look at Zoey, her eyes full of an expression that she just couldn't describe-

-the witch's arm gave out from underneath her. She let out a small yelp as she fell forward and right into Zoey's chest.

Zoey felt her entire body go numb as the freezing cold pale skin made contact with her. She immediately lifted her hands out of the way and flinched backwards as the witch continued to lie helplessly against her, her red eyes desperate and pained as she looked up at the human girl.

Slowly, feeling began to return to her joints as she relaxed—the witch had startled _her_ for a change.

"_Alright_," Zoey said in a shaky voice as she lowered her arms. "I guess that works… just stay still there."

Without further delay, she began to wrap the white bandages around the witch's right shoulder, torso, and left thigh, the main wounded areas. Zoey worked slowly and carefully, making sure she didn't bring any discomfort to the witch.

_Discomfort… _she mocked herself as she continued her work. _I'm worried about bringing discomfort to a witch. This is a first._

In only a few short minutes, the crude bandaging job was done. Zoey cut off the remaining bandages and dropped them back in her first-aid kit, which she zipped back up and slung back around her shoulders. She then looked back down to the witch, who continued to lie dormant, leaned against her chest.

"Alright… that should stop the bleeding from getting any worse," Zoey said as she avoided eye contact with the infected girl. Her eyes, though weak and pained, still brought shivers down her spine. "You should be feeling better in a couple of days-"

The witch interrupted her sentence as she began to sit upwards, groaning with effort as she lifted her head from Zoey's chest. The human girl sat in complete silence, baffled at the girl's quick recovery. Not only a few minutes ago, the witch was on the ground, bleeding slowly to death. Yet now, with some renewed strength that she had gathered from seemingly nowhere, she was sitting straight up, though wavering slightly back and forth as if dizzy.

"You…" Zoey breathed in awe. "You're okay to sit now?"

The witch's eyes slowly moved to Zoey's, locking on with her crimson gaze. However, this time, she found that she couldn't look away. Instead, she allowed herself to stare right back into the infected girl's eyes.

_Those eyes, _she thought as she continued to stare. _Is she trying to say thank you? They're displaying so much appreciation… is that what it's all about? _

Before Zoey could say anything, the witch sat on her ankles and leaned forward, propping herself up on her hands like… a dog?

Zoey felt her body freeze up as the creature slowly leaned her face closer to her own, moving inch by inch until the their noses were only separated by a thin strip of air, the witch's cold breath beating against her lips.

"Uh…" Zoey breathed nervously. "I… what…"

A thousand thoughts flew through the human's mind as she remained absolutely still, unsure of how to react to such a motion. However, after a few minutes of the awkward silence, Zoey began to calm her nerves. Whatever the witch was doing, if she had wanted her dead, she would've killed her already. There was something else going on… something that Zoey just didn't understand.

Allowing her mind to clear up, Zoey blinked and threw away all her fears, finally allowing her to observe the witch's face. It was… not what she had expected.

The normal witches that Zoey had seen either on the ground dead or standing up and ready to strike, had eyes that were sunken deep into pale wrinkles that lined their faces. Their lips were often stuck in a permanent frown and stained with the blood of those who weren't as lucky, or didn't heed the crying warning. But this witch was different. Though she had the same thin composure, elongated claws, red eyes, and white hair, her face wasn't as… deformed as the rest. The witch that stared deep into Zoey's eyes had a face that seemed as though it belonged to a child. No wrinkles plagued her smooth facial features, and no blood tainted her lips. Her eyes weren't menacing, but open wide in a gaze of what Zoey was now sure was appreciation. The girl was…

Cute?

_Weird thing to call a witch, _she thought. _Cute? These things are killing machines… how could one possibly be cute? Yet here one is, proving everything wrong. It's hard to believe it, and I'm staring right into her eyes. _

Before too long, the infected girl ducked her head, her long white hair hiding her facial features. She then leaned forward and brushed the side of her cheek along Zoey's own.

The freezing cold touch made her almost pull backwards, but Zoey stood her own and took the gesture as a sign of trust… or kindness… or hopefully something not bad.

Once a full stroke was made, the witch leaned back once again and touched noses with Zoey, staring deep into her eyes.

"I…" the human finally muttered. "Are you trying to say thank you?"

The witch slowly nodded.

She did understand English.

Zoey stared deep into the red eyes of this complicated infected witch that seemed to disprove everything that she'd ever thought about the infected. All fear was replaced by raw fascination—there was nothing left to be afraid of.

"Well… you're welcome," she said after a deep breath.

This was beyond belief. This witch was so much more advanced and intelligent than any other infected probably out there. What caused it? What would the others think if they saw her?

The others.

Zoey quickly pulled back from the witch's endless gaze, causing her to tilt her head slightly to the side in an expression of confusion.

She had almost completely forgotten about the others that were waiting for her back at the gas station. They were probably worried sick; who knew how long she had been there.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," Zoey said apologetically.

At the words, the witch's curious composure slowly turned saddened as she allowed her head to lower itself, her gaze falling to the ground. For only a moment, Zoey could've sworn she saw the girl's ears begin to lower as well. The infected girl let out a light whimper as she raised only her eyes to lock onto Zoey's, a heart-wrenching expression of desperation.

"No… don't look at me like that," she sighed with a shake of her head. "There are others I have to get back to. They're probably worried about me."

The witch's eyebrows came together in what seemed like defeat as her eyes dropped back down to the ground. She let out a low, sad moan.

"I wish I could bring you with me to show the others," Zoey tried to recover. "But they're just not as… accepting. I'm not sure what they would do. I don't want you getting hurt again." The infected girl made no movement. Zoey sighed with guilt as she shook her head. "Look," she began to offer. "What if I come back tomorrow in the morning? We never move during the day… I could come visit you here as early as I can." When the witch made no response, Zoey leaned forward and reached a hand out to touch her pale shoulder. However, the infected girl only pulled her body away and turned her head, her eyes narrowed in sadness. She didn't believe her. "No," Zoey tried desperately as she pulled her hand away. "I promise… you can trust me."

As if falling into the idea, the witch's eyes moved back to Zoey, then to the ground, then back to her again. Finally, she turned her head back to the human, her eyes troubled with insecurity.

"I promise," Zoey repeated once again as she reached forward with a still hand and stroked the girl's cold yet surprisingly soft cheek with her palm.

The witch moved her hand to cover Zoey's, the freezing flesh no longer a surprise. She held the human's hand to her cheek and closed her eyes, breathing deeply as if taking in every moment of it. After a few seconds, the witch opened her eyes and slowly let Zoey's hand go, allowing the human to bring it back to her side and slowly stand back up.

"I won't forget," Zoey reassured as the infected girl cast her desolate gaze upon her. "You can count on me. I'll be back first thing in the morning."

The witch didn't respond. Instead, she only kept her eyes locked onto Zoey's as the girl began to take slow steps backwards, moving towards the door that had originally let her in. Once she reached the doorframe, Zoey took a deep breath and turned around, beginning to make her way back to the gas station. However, when she took her first step, she was followed by the sounds of soft whines.


	3. Chapter 3

_Well, I've been getting a few good reviews on this story, so I guess that means I have the clear to continue on! ^^ Hehe, that is unless everyone suddenly tells me I shouldn't. I hope you guys are having as much fun reading this as I am writing it! Thanks for all the reviews! Keep them coming if you can! ^^_

The night was difficult to sleep through. Thousands of questions buzzed around in Zoey's head like flies, keeping her awake and restless. She couldn't stop thinking about the witch that she recently had the fortune of meeting.

When she had returned to the gas station that night, Bill was already posted outside with his M-16A4 in hand, waiting for her to return. Apparently, she had been gone much longer than she thought; a whole hour separated Francis's arrival time from her own.

"You had us worried sick, Zoey," she remembered Bill's very words, the wrinkles on his experienced face deepened with both worry and relief. "What the hell took you so long?"

What was she supposed to say? Was she expected to tell him that she had stumbled upon a witch with a surprisingly staggering intelligence level as compared to those other infected? Was she supposed to say that she just so happened to befriend that witch, and promised that she would return the next day to visit?

The infection did horrible things to people… the last thing she wanted her friends to think was that it was beginning to get to her head and drive her insane. She had to defend both herself _and_ the witch from the others.

"You know Francis," she recalled her lie. "He was probably running in and out of the buildings. You know I'm a little more careful than that."

"I suppose," his skeptical reply came. "Well, get inside, kid. Everyone's in the basement waiting for you. We scraped together some food, so let's go eat and pass out. We'll need our energy for tomorrow."

And there Zoey lied in the dark basement of the gas station that was once used to store shelf stock. There were no windows and no lights—the entire room was pitch black, which unfortunately allowed the imagination to go wild. Even though she could hear the other men's light snoring all around her in the tiny room, she still managed to find some discomfort in the darkness. It was like the power outage in kindergarten when she was in the bathroom all over again.

A firm figure continued to present itself as it pressed against Zoey's head, even though covered underneath the soft pillow sewn into her sleeping bag. She had stashed her pistol there, as she did every night before going to sleep. While the other men found it annoying to sleep on something so hard, Zoey had to admit that she found it comforting. However, that very night, it brought her more restlessness than comfort. On the pistol was the only instrument that would allow her to get out of the basement—her flashlight.

The knowledge that her only form of light rested beneath her head made her fingers itch. It was tempting her, practically calling her name. Zoey wanted to turn the flashlight on, find the exit to the stupid clammy and cold basement, and go back to the witch who she knew was waiting for her. The only problem was that she didn't know what time it was or how long it had been since the others had fallen asleep. In complete darkness and silence, a minute could pass like an hour, yet at the same time an hour could pass like a second.

Zoey closed her eyes and sighed lightly, careful not to wake the others. The temptations were growing by the second, ripping her mind apart.

_No… just stop thinking about it, _she scolded herself as she forced her eyes to close. However, as if spring loaded, her eyelids popped back open once again, leaving her restless on the hard floor. _It's not like you can't wait for the others to wake up. Just get some sleep and go visit her tomorrow morning. _

However, the more Zoey tried to push the thoughts away, the more images of the witch sitting alone crept into her mind. She couldn't help but remember what it felt like to stare right into the eyes of the infected girl who had originally been nothing but an enemy before. She recalled the face that the girl had given her right before she left—lonely. In her eyes reflected a kind of desperate hope that Zoey had never seen before. And every second that passed… every minute she wasn't sitting next to the girl… tugged harder and harder at her heart.

Pure willpower only lasted so long against temptation. Before she could stop herself, Zoey found that her own hand was digging underneath her pillow. Her fingers wrapped around the comforting figure of her pistol, which she slipped out and presented close to her face. Though it was only a few inches away from her eyes, Zoey couldn't see even its silhouette through the pitch black darkness.

Nerves began to race into her fingers as she pointed the pistol straight upwards, as high and far away from any of the other men, and began to push on the tiny switch that activated the flashlight as she held her breath. It felt as though she had used all her strength before the light finally clicked on, reflecting off the concrete ceiling all around and burning her retinas. However, Zoey ignored her adjusting eyes and looked around at the now-dimly illuminated room all around her. It was tiny indeed, and the light was bouncing all across he hardened walls, but luckily the worst reaction she got was Francis's sudden snort as he adjusted sleeping positions.

Zoey finally allowed her lungs to breathe once again, silently letting out the breath she was holding. Step one was over—step two was beginning. As quietly as possible, she snaked out of her crinkling sleeping bag, pausing every few moments to make sure no one was waking up. After five full squirms, she was sitting on the concrete beside her deflated sleeping bag. Performing one last check to make sure she had awakened nobody, she slowly pushed herself up on her feet.

The flashlight beam remained pointed straight up, far away from anyone's eyes, as Zoey spotted the ladder that led up to the hatch in the ceiling. She took a step forward, but immediately stopped as she remembered the cold New York nights. Constant motion and nerve had normally kept the group warm when they were making their way through the city. However, now that she would be doing barely any moving at all, it would be cold.

Zoey doubled back on her step and turned around, eyeing her sleeping bag nervously. Packing it up would be loud indeed, but it was necessary for her to do so. Taking a deep breath and holding it once more, Zoey used one hand to roll the bag up in a crude ball that she could manage until she was outside. The task was difficult and awkward; she had to point the pistol up with one hand while leaned down and getting as good of a grip as possible on her now-balled up roll. She let the breath out slowly as she looked around one last time at her fellow survivors—none had awakened. Initiating a final push, Zoey quietly made her way towards the ladder, tiptoeing past a snoring Francis, a sprawled Bill, and a drooling Louis. However, once she arrived at the wooden steps to freedom, she realized that she had miscalculated one tiny thing.

Zoey's eyes went to the sleeping bag that she held in one hand, then to the pistol she held in the other, and finally back to the ladder. Realizing what a stupid mistake she had made, the girl groaned silently and rolled her eyes.

_Why a ladder? Why couldn't they be stairs? _

Deciding that the concrete room wasn't exactly in a position to negotiate, Zoey flicked off the light to her pistol, allowing the shadows to encase her in their grasp once again as she holstered the gun. She then hugged the crude rolled up ball in her left arm, freeing up her hands and allowing her to grasp the ladder with all ten fingers. Zoey awkwardly made her way up the steps, careful not to drop the sleeping bag back to the ground and ruining all her progress. Though the ladder only contained eight steps, it took her at least five minutes to make her way to the top, where she pushed open the creaking hatch as quickly as possible and climbed her way out to freedom. The frigid night air greeted her cruelly, cutting through her thin jacket and sending a shiver down her spine. The light of the half moon that shone through the gas station's windowless frames rewarded her eyes, allowing her to see exactly where she was moving when she closed the hatch, stood up, and quickly made her way to the store that she remembered contained the witch.

Zoey moved at a steady, fast pace, steam flowing out of her mouth as she went; the last thing she'd wanted was to be caught out in the darkness alone by some infected freak. The thought of being some zombie's late night snack forced her to accelerate to a jog.

Only a few minutes put the girl in front of the clothing store that struck her mind with familiarity. Zoey arched her head every which way as she scanned the inside of the room quickly, looking over shelves and toppled clothing racks for any changes that she could see since the last time she had visited there. Once she found none, she breathed a sigh of relief and slowly walked in through the door, careful not to step on any broken glass—the last thing she wanted to do was startle the witch that was hopefully still behind the counter.

Pathetic thoughts of the witch abandoning her began to amass in her mind as she moved closer and closer to the counter. What if the infected girl had left? What if Zoey walked up behind the counter to discover that there was no longer anything there?

The irrational thoughts caused her to speed walk over the articles of clothing strewn so carelessly around the floor. Unable to hold her racing heart back any further, Zoey reached the counter in a heartbeat and poked her head over.

Much to her relief, the witch girl was indeed still there behind the counter. However, instead of lying on the ground, she was huddled up against the corner of the room, her knees drawn up to her body as she hugged herself tightly with her arms. Her head rested against the left side wall, allowing her long white bangs to cover her eyes and features. Though Zoey couldn't see her face, she was sure the witch was asleep from the gentle and rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.

Zoey sighed in relief as she allowed a smile of both content and adoration dance upon her lips. She quietly made her way around the counter and to where the girl was fast asleep, using the same precision in her step as she had done with the basement of the gas station. Sleeping bag in hand, Zoey crouched down in front of the witch and unraveled the protective veil of warmth. She softly draped the blanket over the girl's body, careful not to wake her as it molded over and created and shield around her.

However, her cautious attempt was in vain. Once the sleeping bag settled, the infected girl lifted her head, allowing her bangs to split around her face. The two locked eyes for a moment, a mutual, unspoken happiness and relief being exchanged between them.

The witch began to lean forward, but quickly froze once the sound of the sleeping bag crinkled around her. She snapped her attention down to the bag, then to Zoey, a look of confusion on her face. Then, as if checking the temperature, she let out a long breath of air and watched it turn into steam. Without any delay the witch slipped the sleeping bag off of herself and extended it to Zoey on her massive claws, an expression of worry rigging her features.

"N-no, I'm fine," Zoey managed to lie through chattering teeth.

However, the witch was persistent, and only shook her head as she nudged the older girl's shoulder with the materials of the bag. There was no longer a doubt in Zoey's mind that she understood English.

"It's o-okay, really," she forced on a smile. "You take it."

The witch's arm slowly dropped to her side, a look of defeat on her face as her gaze switched between Zoey and the sleeping bag. However, the defeated slump turned into a thoughtful stare as she focused down on the warmth in her hand. With two quick blinks she snapped her head up to Zoey, her eyes open with hope. The human girl couldn't help but cock an eyebrow and expect for a light bulb to appear over the witch's head.

Without warning, the witch took the edge of the sleeping bag that stitched the two layers together, one side in each hand, and used her obscene strength to tear it in half. Zoey flinched as the ripping noise came abrupt and quickly, ceasing as quickly as it had started. With a proud look on her face, the witch reached out one half of the sleeping bag to Zoey, who wasn't sure how to react.

"Uh…" she managed to stutter out, a dumbstruck expression glued to her face. However, realizing that the girl had done it in their both best interests, Zoey smiled and nodded as she reached out to take the blanket. "Thanks."

The young girl nodded and returned the grin, though it was apparent that she was making a conscious effort at keeping her lips closed. Deciding to allow _that_ question to come later, Zoey ignored the fact and leaned against the wall behind her, covering her body up with the torn sleeping bag and kicking her legs out before her. She then watched in curiosity as the witch scooted up beside her. All her questions were answered as the girl leaned down, resting her head upon Zoey's covered lap, and pulled the cover over herself before curling up slightly.

Zoey let out a small, silent breath of laughter as she looked down at the witch's closing eyes. "You look a little more comfortable then when I came."

However, the infected girl made no response. Comforted by the feeling of a companion beside her, the girl must have fallen asleep immediately. Her breaths returned to their slow, steady pattern of rising and falling as her muscles relaxed. She was definitely asleep.

Watching the witch sleep reminded Zoey that she, herself, hadn't caught a blink of rest yet. It was only then that her eyes began to weigh down on her, her head becoming heavy on a neck that felt like Jell-o. Zoey let out a wide-mouthed yawn as she leaned her head back against the wall behind her, more relaxed than she ever had been since the infection began.

She was with the witch now—there was no tugging at her heart.

She was with a powerful girl now—there was no fear of death.

She was with her friend now… there was no more loneliness.

A loud screech threw Zoey out of her sleep. Her eyes popped open as she immediately leaned away from the wall, staring forward and straining her ears, hoping she had heard wrong. She looked all around her—the air was still cold and the skies were still dark. An uneasy feeling crept its way into Zoey's stomach as she looked back down at the witch, who must have heard the sound as well. Though she remained lying down, her eyes were wide open and she exchanged nervous glances with the human girl.

There had to be something wrong.

"What was that?" Zoey asked, her voice hushed yet distressed. "You heard that too?"

The girl nodded slowly in reply as she nervously sat upwards, allowing the sleeping bag to slip off her shoulders, revealing her pale skin once again.

Much to her fear, the same screech filled the air again. The sound tore through Zoey's confidence and hit her morale hard, causing her stomach to flip as her entire body tingled with cold sweat. It was unmistakably the sound of a hunter… and worst of all, it was close—really close.

However, this time, instead of a solo song, the sounds of strained, dry growls came quickly after, cut off by a loud, unhealthy cough. Zoey immediately distinguished the noises and matched the sounds to the face of a smoker, its head covered in bulbous protrusions.

The hellish serenade refused to cease as the gagging bellows of the boomer came into play. It let out a low, short grunt before returning to silence.

Zoey's breathing became quick as she tried to suppress a sense of panic. She looked over to witch to find that the girl was standing, her eyes focused intently on the streets outside. Her head moved side to side as she scanned the stores and sidewalk, waiting for something to appear.

"How close are they?" Zoey found the nerves to say as she stood up herself, the sleeping bag falling off her body and revealing the hand that reached for her pistol. She pulled the heavy Colt out of her holster and flicked the safety switch off, cocking back the hammer and holding it towards the front of the building.

The witch looked over to her, a worried expression on her face.

That couldn't be good.

Zoey bit her lip as she restrained herself from asking the next question that weighed heavily on her mind. She didn't want to hear the answer. However, if they wanted to survive, she'd have to know for sure. "They know where we are, don't they?"

The witch gave a slow, dismal nod.

Zoey grimaced as she tightened the grip around her pistol, hoping the deeper the figure dug into her palms, the more secure she would feel. The attempt failed miserably. "This is not good," she said to herself. "This is really bad. Really, _really_ bad."

All she had was a pistol and two extra clips that she kept locked away in her holster. There was no form of defense anywhere around—that was it. If they wanted to have a chance at survival, they'd have to move quickly to a building with one entrance only; that way the zombies would have a choke point, taking them down to more manageable numbers at a time.

"Alright, we have to get out of here," Zoey finally declared her plan as she quickly snapped her attention over to the witch, who only waited to hear the rest of it. "We need to find a building… somewhere with a one-way-in, one-way-out door. That way we can…" Zoey allowed herself to trail off in her sentence as she looked at the infected girl, who narrowed her eyes in confusion. "You…" the human finally realized. "You're technically one of them, aren't you? Can't you talk to them? They wouldn't attack you, would they?"

Much to her disappointment, the witch shook her head slowly. She then took one of her massive claws and pointed to Zoey, then back to herself.

"Are you saying…" the human tried to understand. "Are you saying that they'll attack you because you're with me?"

The witch frantically shook her head. She then pointed to herself, made a quick clawing motion midair, then pointed out to the streets. Before Zoey could try to guess what she was saying, the infected girl then pointed back out onto the streets, made another clawing motion, then pointed to herself.

Zoey understood immediately. "They'll attack you if you attack them," she deducted, and was immediately rewarded by the witch's nod. "Then don't attack them… you have to run. Get out of here, I'll find my own way out, alright?"

However, the infected girl only shook her head, a determined look replacing her scared one. Zoey searched the girl's eyes for any sign of doubt, but when she found none, decided that it would be pointless trying to convince her otherwise.

Zoey sighed as the easy alternative answer was knocked dead. "Alright, then, we need to move. And fast. You ready?"

The witch nodded, allowing the two to slowly make their way to the front of the building where they steeled their nerves. Taking a deep breath, Zoey clenched her teeth and took the first step out, immediately swiveling right and pointing her pistol down the street. When she saw it was all clear, she kept her gun trained but turned her head behind her to see if there was anything on the other side. However, only the witch stood behind her, her eyes scanning the roofs of the buildings all around them.

"It looks clear," Zoey whispered, despite the fact that she was very well aware the infected knew where she was already regardless. "Let's go, c'mon."

Without pausing, Zoey took a step forward, prepared to sprint towards the nearest ideal building-

-the sound of gagging came from above.

Zoey felt her heart skip a beat as she began to look upwards. She was too late—a boomer fell off the roof above her and exploded on contact with the sidewalk, blowing bile and guts all over both her and the witch. "Shit!" Zoey screamed as the sounds of screeching common infected immediately tore through the air. "_Shit_! C'mon, let's go!"

However, Zoey only made it two steps before a rush of common infected zombies turned the corner of the alleyway only six buildings away from her. They pumped their arms furiously as they bolted for the two girls, their jaws agape with the thought of fresh meat. The shrieks continued as Zoey slowly began to pace backwards. She raised the pistol in front of her, clutched it with both hands, and took careful aim. Once she squeezed on the trigger, the Colt bucked violently in her hands, sending a bullet screaming into one of the infected men's heads. The creature's neck jerked backwards violently as he stopped his forward movement only to be knocked over and trampled to death by the rest of the advancing horde.

Zoey emptied the contents of her current clip as quickly as she could, balancing both aim and speed as well as she could. The witch behind her whined nervously as she watched the horde come closer and closer; she began to tug lightly on Zoey's track jacket with her long claws, attempting to remind the girl of the original plan.

The gun clicked dully as Zoey pulled the trigger again, telling her in its own language that it was out of ammo. It was only then that she turned on her heel and called over the sound of the screaming horde, "Let's go!"

The two sprinted as quickly as their feet would take them, though it was obvious that the witch was slowing her own pace in order to stay with Zoey. The human girl pressed her finger against the clip eject button on the pistol and watched as the empty cartridge fell out of the gun and clattered to the ground behind her. She then dug into her holster, yanked out a fresh clip from the storage compartment, and slapped it into her gun. Pushing down the slide release with her thumb, the Colt's slide snapped back into action-

-something wet locked around Zoey's ankle.

The girl let out a yelp of surprise as her foot came to an abrupt stop, causing her to tumble forward, dropping her gun to the ground. Zoey slammed hard on the asphalt, smashing her elbows painfully as the gun dropped before her-

-as lucky as she could get, the Colt discharged as it hit the ground. The gun bucked and threw itself backwards as the bullet tore through the smoker's tongue that had bound her. With a loud screech, the wrap on her leg was released, allowing Zoey to scramble to her feet, sweeping up her pistol as she caught up to the waiting witch.

Zoey's eyes scanned the buildings around her frantically for her ideal door system. However, failure after failure began to weigh down on her body, causing her feet to drag with hopeless fatigue. _Shit, this is bad, _her jumbled thoughts finally came across as the sound of the quickly advancing horde plagued her confidence. _This is so bad._

Time seemed to pause for a split second as a hunter's screech pierced through her ears. Zoey felt her eyes swell with tears as she began to accept defeat-

-the hunter's figure flew right past her, its bloodstained, dark sweatshirt scraping against her shoulder. Zoey watched in relief as the creature's sharp, bloody claws missed her completely-

-the witch.

Zoey's relief turned to terror as the hunter tackled the witch to the ground. The infected girl let out a loud screech as she hit the street on her stomach, allowing the hooded infected to take advantage of her surprise and claw deep ridges into her back. The witch shrieked as the gashes were cut deep, bleeding ferociously.

She had to do something… anything.

Zoey came to a skidding halt on the rocky asphalt, and immediately lifted her newly loaded pistol to aim at the hunter's head. However, the shot was impossible—his head was ducking and rising as he tore enthusiastically through the pale girl's soft flesh. Deciding to take what she could get, Zoey aimed the pistol at the creature's torso and let forth three shots in quick succession.

The hunter's high-pitched shriek filled the air as it was thrown off of the helpless girl and to the pavement beside her, bleeding violently before Zoey put a final bullet in its slowly-recovering head.

The horde was almost upon them. Zoey rushed forward and grabbed the witch's outstretched arm, pulling the girl to her feet by the wrist before the two continued their mad dash.

The push only lasted for a few seconds before her companion let out a loud screech. Zoey snapped her head behind her as she stopped her forward haul once again. Her eyes widened with horror as she realized that the witch was being dragged backwards by what was left of the smoker's severed tongue, a victorious smile displayed over his open mouth. The witch clawed desperately at the street with her long claws, the fear causing her to forget that she could cut off the infected man's tongue.

Taking a deep breath, Zoey steadied her shaky aim and placed the sights on the smoker's head-

-a loud screech filled her senses.

The human girl only had enough time to turn her head before a heavy body threw itself on her side, tackling her painfully to the ground. Zoey opened her eyes wide to see what had attacked her-

-it was the hunter.

The same hunter that she had thought she shot in the head was clawing at her as she desperately flailed her arm in an attempt to push it off. It was then that she could see the three bullets that she had put into its chest, and the one that had grazed the side of its neck.

She missed.

Zoey let out a series of pained, desperate yelps and groans as she attempted to defend herself against the hunter's razor claws. The haunting sounds of the witch's screaming filled her ears—she had failed them. Zoey had failed both of them… and now she was going to die for it-

-the hunter's head jerked violently to the side.

Zoey watched in horror as the creature's body went limp, then slowly fell off of her. What was going on?

"Zoey!"

The voice… it was so familiar. It was the voice of her savior.

A strong set of hands grabbed her shoulders and yanked her to her feet. She turned around, and much to her disbelief yet relief, saw Francis smiling at her with her hunting rifle in his hands, his own automatic shotgun slung on his back.

"Merry Christmas," he said as he handed her the rifle.

Zoey snapped out of the shock as she heard the witch's tell-tale shriek; questions and a "thank you" would have to come later.

The comfort of a powerful weapon in her hand caused her aim to steady itself out as she swung around to find that Bill and Louis were already mowing down the advancing horde from the side with their automatic weaponry, making it more of a task compared to that of grocery shopping than a fight for survival. However, Zoey found the target she was looking for.

The smoker at the front of the dying zombie horde was clawing away at the witch with its own nails, its tongue wrapped firmly around her neck.

With expert marksmanship, Zoey snapped the scope to her eyes, took instant aim on the smoker's bulbous head, and fire a single shot that tore through its skull.

The infected creature let out a final cough before it exploded in a burst of green smoke and blood, spraying the witch with its entrails as she fell to her knees. However, she scrambled back to her feet and sprinted forward towards Zoey, her eyes desperate for some form of comfort-

-"Zoey!" Francis yelled as he pushed her to the side. She stumbled and caught herself, but turned back just in time to see that he was snapping his automatic shotgun out in front of him and taking aim on the witch, whose eyes turned from hope to terror.

"No! Francis!" Zoey screamed as she gave the gun a strong push.

The well-built biker let out a grunt as he discharged a single shotgun round. The shot bounced harmlessly into one of the building walls, allowing the witch to change her direction from the staggering Francis to Zoey. The infected girl hid behind her as the biker caught himself and stared at Zoey as if she'd lost it.

"Are you crazy?" he yelled as he raised his shotgun to her. "It's a witch! It's gonna kill you now move!"

However, Zoey only shook her head as the sounds of gunfire from Bill and Louis came to silence. She raised her arms out by her sides as she protected the witch from Francis's enraged glare, his shotgun still fixed on her chest.

"Zoey?" Bill's confused yet cautious voice came from her side, Louis's footsteps conjoined with his own.

The girl turned her head to face the others but kept her body between Francis and the witch—it was the only thing keeping the poor infected girl alive. The biker stared in pure shock and disbelief as the other two men stood next to him and joined in on his composure.

Zoey could only watch in silence as Bill swallowed hard before saying, "Zoey, you know that's a witch, don't you? Not some helpless little girl?"

"I know what she is," the human girl stood strong. "Now stop pointing your gun at her."

The three men exchanged confused glares with one another before Francis sighed and shook his head. "That's it, she's gone off the deep end."

"I hate to say it, Zoey," Louis finally spoke, using his hands to speak as well, "but you're starting to make me feel a little nervous. That's a witch—you know, the things with claws that tear survivors like you and me to little pieces?"

Zoey narrowed her eyes. "I said I knew what she was. But she's not like the others. Why do you think I'm still standing in front of her? Why hasn't she killed me yet if that's all there is to her?"

The three men exchanged thoughtful glances between themselves as they waited for one to speak up for all of them. However, when silence served as their only answer, Francis groaned and allowed his shotgun's barrel to point back to the ground.

"Shit, Zoey," Louis sighed as everyone's bodies began to relax now that the gun was out of mind. "You got yourself into some deep trouble before we came along."

"Exactly what the hell is going on?" the biker cut to the chase, impatient with all the bushwhacking. "You're out here attracting a horde all to yourself, and now you're defending a dirty witch?"

Zoey shot a nasty glare at Francis, who flinched for a split second before regaining his cool. However, once she locked eyes with the two others, who were just as eager to hear the answer to Francis's question as the biker himself, she sighed and allowed her shoulders to slump in defeat. Unfortunately, now that the adrenalin had finally worn off, the deep gashes that the hunter had inflicted upon her body began to throb painfully. Zoey grimaced, but attempted to ignore the pain as she began, "It's a long story, guys. I'll explain back at the gas station where it's safe. But this…" she said as she stepped to the side, revealing the infected girl behind her. The witch's shaking form caught the three men off guard, causing them to gasp in surprise at her appearance. They weren't used to seeing the creatures this close… at least, not without running for their lives immediately afterwards.

As if sensing the tension, the infected girl cautiously made her way back behind Zoey, her head lowered though her eyes were still tracked on the men. The human girl flinched as she felt the witch's hands press softly against her back, trying to remain as protected as possible.

Zoey sighed as she finished her sentence. "This is my friend."


	4. Chapter 4

_Well, I didn't get a whole lot of reviews on the third chapter, so I'm not sure if that's a warning that I should stop while I'm ahead ;P Please tell me what's going on! I really do like it when people tell me how I'm doing, even if it means I'm doing horribly! ^^ Well, Hopefully this one will get more attention. I hope you guys enjoy! _

Zoey waited silently for the first reaction to come. It had taken a lot of breath, guts, and half an hour to explain to her friends exactly what had gone on in the last few life-changing hours of her existence. It wasn't easy, by any means… half the time she was talking the three were exchanging grimaces as though they were getting ready to shut her up and tell her she'd lost it completely. However, much to her surprise, they sat through the story quietly, listening until the end. Now, though, the reaction she would receive was up in the air. The way they were completely silent could've either meant something really good was going to happen or something really bad.

The four survivors with the addition of the witch were sitting in the gas station basement, the only light used to illuminate the room coming from their pistol flashlights. The three men had been generous enough to allow her to patch up both her and the infected girl's wounds up before beginning the long and awkward explanation.

Zoey moved her gaze to the witch who sat silently beside her, her crimson eyes locked on the ground as if afraid to make eye contact with anyone. She twiddled her razor sharp claws nervously, tapping them against the ground and each other. The entire time that Zoey had been spinning the tale, she hadn't moved at all. Her legs were crossed and her shoulders were slumped forward, her head hung as if showing some expression of shame.

Finally, Bill cracked the silence. He let out a loud sigh as he leaned back against the wall behind him. Though the three had said that they trusted Zoey before she had even begun talking, they started by pressing themselves against the opposite side wall from where the two girls were leaned. Whether it was because of fear of the witch or of Zoey's possible insanity was the real question to answer.

"Ah, Zoey," the vet groaned as he rubbed his temples and shook his head. The human girl waited for him to say something more, but unfortunately, the man reverted to silence, leaving her to wonder if that was the beginning of a good statement or a scolding.

Trying her best to get on their good sides, Zoey took a deep breath and said, "Thanks a bunch for the save out there, guys; we would've been dead without you. How'd you know what was going on?"

"Gunshots, and lots of 'em," Francis answered with a cross of his arms as if he'd just taken on the entire horde by himself. "And we wouldn't have needed to save your ass if you hadn't gone and run off in the first place."

Zoey felt all her hope demolish as the biker sighed and shook his head. So they were taking it badly.

However, before she had a chance to spew out her apologies in the form of verbal diarrhea, Bill shook his head and cleared his throat. "Now hold on a minute, let's not start pointing fingers," he sighed. "Zoey's not stupid. She might make bad decisions every now and then, but we all do." The vet's eyes slowly and nervously shifted over to the witch, who was still staring down at her own claws shamefully. "It's not like we don't know if she's lying or not. For Christ's sake, the witch is right here in front of us. If she wasn't as special as Zoey said she was, we'd all be dead by now."

"She looks different, too," Louis observed aloud as he leaned forward ever-so-slightly from his sitting position against the wall. "Not as mean as the other ones."

Zoey felt her spirits lift from their shattered state as both Bill and Louis continued to study the witch's features, while Francis remained stubborn and refused to look. He continued to sit quietly with his arms crossed, making an occasional grunting noise and low-pitched groan to show his disapproval vividly.

"She's not mean at all, Francis," Zoey pleaded as she tried to win over the approval of her last teammate. If there was any form of conflict inside the group, they wouldn't function properly, and she knew it. "She's harmless, and probably more afraid of you than you are of her."

"I never said I was afraid of her," Francis snorted defiantly, retaining his pride. "I never said that."

"Then why are you acting like that?" she persisted.

"Because… well…" the biker growled as he grimaced, trying to retain his sturdy viewpoint. "Because she's an infected, that's why," he finally choked out. "And just because she's nice now doesn't mean she'll stay that way forever."

A light tapping sound deterred Zoey's attention from Francis to down beside her where the noise had come from. There she saw that the witch was no longer playing with her claws, but was now allowing the razor points to lay motionless on the concrete ground. Her head sunk lower beneath her shoulders as the biker's statement cut deep into her emotions.

"Lighten up, Francis," Bill interjected. "You're just looking for reasons now."

"Neither one of them have given us any reason that we can't trust them," Louis added helpfully. "C'mon, tough guy. We've been hunting zombies with Zoey since the infection practically started. She knows just as much about these things as any of us. If she can trust the witch, then I don't see why we can't."

However, Francis only let out a small "humph" and crossed his arms tighter, allowing his massive biceps to show freely from his faded leather vest. He turned his head to the side, pouting as though he were a scolded child.

Zoey, however, refused to accept defeat, and put on her best puppy face. She lowered her head, tilted it to the side, and moved her mouth to one side of her face as she pleaded, "Francis, c'mon. Please? Don't you trust me?"

The biker's eyes went to the girl, but immediately nervously switched away. However, when Zoey kept the face going, he slowly returned his gaze to her, paused for a moment, then sighed as he relaxed his arms and shook his head. "Alright, Zoey, alright. I'll trust you this one time."

Zoey dropped the masquerade as she allowed a broad smile of victory to pass over her lips. "Thanks, Francis."

"Well, since she's with us now," Bill began as the tension ended, "we might as well figure out a little about her. You got a name, kid?"

The witch flinched as she realized that she was being addressed. She shyly looked up to Bill, but once their eyes made contact, dropped her stare back to the ground. Her pale cheeks turned a slight shade of red as the vet chuckled from her reaction.

Zoey mentally kicked herself in the ass. She had completely forgotten to ask the witch if she had a name. Feeling sheepish as ever, she leaned over and encouraged, "Do you have a name?"

To everyone's surprise, the infected girl only weakly shook her head as she returned to fiddling with her claws.

"C'mon, everyone's got a name," Louis joined in, obviously trying to make his voice as comforting as possible. "I'm Louis."

Zoey had to hold back the urge to slap herself across the face as hard as she possibly could. Not only had she completely forgotten to ask the girl if she had a name, but she had forgotten to introduce her own as well. Some friend she was…

"That's Bill," Louis continued as he gestured towards the vet, who was reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. However, when he remembered where they were and the circulation of air that it provided, he paused, then dropped his hands back down to his side. "That's Francis," he continued the tour as he pointed a finger towards Francis, who remained completely stone-faced. "And I'm pretty sure you already met Zoey."

The witch's head finally moved as she turned to face Zoey, her red eyes locked on the girl's deep pools of grey. The human girl gave an apologetic smile as she realized that the infected girl seemed confused as to why she didn't introduce herself. "It slipped my mind… I'm sorry."

"Well, now that we're all acquainted," Louis saved the awkward moment, "are you sure you don't have a name?"

The witch slowly hung her head again as she shook it once more, her white hair waving around her face.

"If she doesn't have a name, why don't we just give her one?" Francis asked impatiently. "Let's call her Sheila or something."

"Francis, that's a horrible name," Bill scolded quickly.

"What?" the biker defended as he flipped his palms up. "I was just trying to help…" He then crossed his arms and turned his head to the side as he muttered, "I thought it was a nice name…"

"What about something classy like Mary or something?" Bill offered with a shrug.

"That's…" Louis grimaced as he looked to Zoey's own awkward face and shook his head. "Maybe we'll think of something else."

The human girl sighed as she shook her head. "What are we going to call you?" she asked as she turned to look at the witch. The infected girl looked back at her, her hopeful red eyes twinkling desperately-

-that was it.

Zoey smiled as she looked to the others. "We'll call her Hope."

The three men's eyebrows came together as they looked to each other, exchanging confused glances, then returned their attention to the girls. "Hope?" Francis finally asked. "What made you come up with _that_?"

"I… I can't explain it," Zoey stuttered as she thought deep and hard. "I guess it's just that she always looks at me with this kind of hopeful look; it's how she's been ever since I met her."

"All of six hours ago?" Francis groaned as he shook his head. "Fine, we'll call her Hope. But I still think Sheila is better."

"You would," Louis joked as allowed a lighthearted chuckle to pass through his lips. "Alright, Hope it is."

"Is that alright?" Zoey asked as she turned her attention back to the infected girl. A small, almost invisible smile crossed the witch's face as she nodded.

Slowly, Hope leaned closer to Zoey and rested her head against the older girl's shoulder. Zoey smiled as she looked down at the tired girl's slowly closing eyes; the combination of the infected attack and the tense introductions had drained most of her energy. She reached a hand over and ran her fingers through Hope's hair, the coarse strands splitting between her every stroke.

"Looks like you've got a responsibility on your hands," Bill stated as he gestured towards the witch. "You're her owner now."

However, Zoey smiled as she slowly shook her head, running a hand along Hope's motionless cheek. "Not an owner, Bill. She's just as free as I am."

The four survivors stood still in front of the kicked-open door that welcomed them into the darkness. They remained silent as they pointed their guns at the entrance, mentally preparing themselves for what possibilities lurked beyond. It was only then that for once, Nick would've preferred being outside to going inside since the infection began.

"Alright, ya'll," Coach finally breathed, a hint of nervousness tainting his normally-sturdy voice. "Keep your eyes and ears open for any infected. I don't feel like carrying anyone out tonight."

"Should we turn our flashlights on?" Ellis asked, his voice bouncing off the mysterious inside walls.

"I don't know," Rochelle's frustrated sarcasm came. Even though he wasn't looking, from how she was projecting her voice, he knew that the girl was glaring at him. "Now that there's a witch on the loose we don't want to startle her."

Nick groaned as he turned his head to face her. He was right—she was definitely glaring at him, her lips turned down in a grimace of anger.

Even though it had been one night ago, the girl was still holding a grudge against the fact that Nick had slapped her gun in order to save the witch. Ever since then, from when they had rested that night to when they had awakened and resumed their trek to the radio tower, Rochelle had continued to give him the cold shoulder and the silent treatment. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was to make sure he knew that she was mad at him.

"Get over it, Shell," Nick spat as he turned his head back to the task at hand. "Yes, Ellis, keep your lights on."

As if commanded, the four survivors switched the flashlights to their guns on. The inside of the building was immediately illuminated, displaying the wreckage that could once be recognized as the single-story radio tower.

Various papers and documents were tossed carelessly around the carpeted floor of the lobby. The receptionist's computer was knocked over onto the ground in front of the counter, its monitor displaying a large, broken hole in the screen. Pictures that had once been hung around the walls were now grounded and shattered, the glass that had once protected the images underneath scattered across. From where they were standing, Nick could see that the lobby branched into five different rooms, each one with the doors barely ajar, hiding either emptiness or surprises behind them. He had to suppress his imagination from coming up with the wildest images of what could've been hiding inside those separate rooms.

"Ho-lee shit," Ellis whistled as he used his flashlight to scan across the entire lobby. "This place is a dump."

"We didn't come here for the scenery," Nick kept his voice as neutral as possible, attempting to show no fear of the unknown. "Now let's get in there and find that radio."

Without allowing their minds to think any further, the four survivors began to take their first steps into the abandoned, destroyed radio station, afraid that if they stalled any longer they would rethink their actions. Coach led the way as usual, guarded by Ellis on the right and Nick on the left, and followed up by Rochelle on the rear. However, Nick had to admit now that the girl was mad at him, he didn't feel as safe as he probably should have.

The sounds of amplified rushing heartbeats and quiet, steady footsteps caused the tension to rise as they made their way to the middle of the lobby, guns at the ready. Nick's eyes swept every single inch of the wall that he was assigned to, his AK-47 pointed wherever his attention happened to move.

"No radio out here," Coach muttered in disappointment as the group's movement came to a halt. "It's gotta be in one of these rooms. Split up and look for-"

"Are you crazy?" Ellis's hushed yet expressive question came forth. "Haven't you ever seen the movies? It's a stupid idea to split up in a place like this! One of us could get dragged away without anyone else knowin'!"

Nick grimaced at the boy's ignorance. "You really watch too much TV, don't you?"

"Maybe."

"Enough," Rochelle's mother-like hiss came. "Coach, we're not in a hurry, and it'd probably be a better idea if we stuck together in at least groups of two."

"If you say so," the man gave in easily. "Baby girl, you're with me. Ellis, Nick, you two go check out the two rooms on the left. We'll get the three on the right."

"Stick me with the idiot," Nick muttered underneath his breath. "Alright, c'mon, kid, let's go."

"Whatever you say Nick," Ellis's heavily accented voice tore through his ears.

Taking a deep breath, Nick pointed his AK's flashlight to the first door on the left. Its solid construction gave no hint as to what was hidden beyond. In an attempt to show no visible fear, he approached the door at what he deemed would appear as a normal walking pace, keeping his gun trained on the crack. Nick paused for a moment in mental preparation, then lifted his right foot and placed it on the cold metal that chilled his toes even through his shoes. His body tingled violently as he gave it a light push, causing the door to swing open as he snapped his AK's flashlight into the now revealed room, Ellis's own light joining his as it scanned around.

Nick let out a silent breath of relief—it was vacant. Only a single desk and some filing cabinets were revealed as occupants. However, just like there were no zombies, there was no radio.

"Shee—yoot," Ellis groaned expressively from behind. "Nothin'. Let's move, Nick. We ain't got time to wait."

"Don't rush me, kid," Nick growled as he made one last scan over the room's contents. Once he was one hundred percent sure that it was clear, he moved onto the next room, its cracked door renewing the sense of tension and uncertainty. Using the same method as he had the last room, Nick pushed open the door with his foot and snapped his light into the revealed room-

-a confused grunt came from the inside before Nick's eyes finally registered the images of the room.

A common infected man was standing leaned face-first against the far side wall, his flannel shirt torn and stained with dried blood stains. The creature let out another grunt before lifting his forehead off the wall and staring clueless at the flashlight's shine around him.

Nick didn't give him a chance to react as he steadied the gun's aim and locked the iron sights onto the turning infected man's face-

-a deafening chain of three-shot bursts were fired directly next to Nick's ear. Instinct forced him to duck and dodge out of the way as he watched the zombie twitch five times before falling to the ground with a yelp, blood pouring out of his open wounds.

Nick cautiously stood back up to his full height as he looked at the wall where the zombie had been standing. Though there had to be _at most_ five bullet holes in the dead infected man, there were _at least_ ten bullet holes rigged in the walls around where he used to stand. A grimace of rage made its way onto Nick's face as he slowly turned only his head to face Ellis, who was giving him a toothy apologetic smile, his gun still pointed inside the room.

"Do you know what sounds like a really great idea?" Nick's suppressed words of rage slithered out of his clenched teeth. "Not shooting me."

Ellis let out a nervous "Heh… heh…" as he lowered his FN SCAR-L back down-

-a throaty, feminine growl broke through Nick's rage. The sound only became louder as the growl turned into what could only be described as cries signaling the beginning of a rage. Both the men's eyes snapped behind them as they located the sound to be coming from one of the rooms that Coach and Rochelle were responsible for.

A loud, high-pitched shriek pierced through the foreboding warnings. It was a sound that Nick knew could only come from a-

-"WIIIIITCH!" Rochelle's scream came from inside the room.

Nick and Ellis snapped their guns up to the room as the constant explosions of a sniper rifle were combined with the thunderous booming of a shotgun. In an instant, Rochelle emerged from the room, back pacing like mad as she fired the sniper from the hip as quickly as her finger could pull the trigger. However, it must not have been enough—the witch was quick to follow her out, her high-pitched shrieks paralyzing both Nick and Ellis and nailing them to the ground where they stood.

In an instant, the witch closed the distance between the two girls, and with a mighty swing of her extended claws, slashed through Rochelle's arm. The girl yelped as she released her gun and lost her balance, the sniper dropping to the ground an instant before she joined it on the floor.

"No!" Rochelle's terrified scream came as the witch arched her arms behind her, prepared to slash the woman into ribbons.

Nick and Ellis snapped back to reality just as Coach emerged from the room, his shotgun pressed against his shoulder as he screamed, "No you don't!"

With a pull of the trigger the shotgun fired a shot that blasted the witch's back, causing her to screech as she staggered forward only a step, but quickly remembered what she was doing and began to bring her claw down upon the helpless Rochelle.

That was enough for Nick and Ellis to finally pull the trigger on their own automatic weapons. The guns bucked heavily in their arms as the bullets collided with the witch's frame. The screeching infected girl's body jerked violently every which way as the fully automatic gunfire tore her apart, splashing blood on the walls around her.

After what seemed like an entire clip, the witch finally let out a defeated cry as she dropped to her knees, her bullet-ridden body falling to the ground in an almost unrecognizable mess.

Silence crept its way into the room as the four survivors caught their lost breath, recovering from the terrifying experience.

"Rochelle!" Coach finally called as he ran forward, dropping his shotgun to the ground as he crouched down beside his fallen comrade. Nick switched his AK to safety and slung it over his shoulder as he jogged over to where she was being helped to a sitting position, Ellis following closely behind as if afraid to be left alone.

"How you feelin', baby girl?" Coach asked as he used his arm to support her back.

"I… I've been better," her hazy response came. Slowly, she lifted her arm to her eyes, allowing the other survivors to see the damage as well.

Four deep gashes bled ferociously on her forearm, dripping crimson tears to the ground. She was shaking violently as she stared at the wound in disbelief.

"She's losing blood fast," Coach stated in an alarmed voice. "She's in shock—somebody hand me a first aid kit!"

Ellis was the first to react. He rushed by Nick and dropped to his knees as he threw the health kit off his shoulders and handed the pack to Coach, who ripped it from his hands and unzipped it, practically tearing the two halves apart. The large man dug around the box until he found the white medical tape, pulled it out, and began to work hastily at wrapping Rochelle's injured arm.

With stunning speed, Rochelle's entire arm was casted by the now crimson-stained wrap. However, it served its purpose well, and slowed the bleeding. The woman groaned as she looked down at her arm, then back to Coach.

"Thanks, big guy. I definitely owe you for savin' my ass."

"You don't owe me nothin', girl," he said with a shake of his head. "Now just sit down and get your head back."

"Mmkay," her dazed response came.

Nick watched as Rochelle's eyes moved from Coach to Ellis, then from Ellis to Nick. However, as if she had remembered that she was supposed to be angry at him, her face immediately twisted into a death-glare, much more violent than he had ever received before.

"What the hell's that for?" Nick grimaced. "I just saved your ass!"

"That was probably the witch _you_ saved, Nick," she mustered up all the rage she had energy for. "Because of you, I'm in a sorry-ass shape."

Nick's mouth dropped slightly as he looked in disbelief at her, then to Ellis and Coach to see if they were just as bewildered as he was. When they gave him no such relief, he turned back to the girl and said, "I just saved your life and all you can think of is that?"

"You wouldn't have had to save my life if you just let me kill that damn witch!" Rochelle's strength seemed to be coming back through anger. "Now we have to stop and waste more time!"

Nick shook his head. "Alright, first of all, don't blame me because you were too damn stupid to watch your steps. And second, that wasn't the same witch."

"How the hell would you know, Nick?" Coach predictably joined Rochelle's side. "They all look the same! You trying to say you got some connection with that one or something?"

Nick opened his mouth to object, but quickly closed as he realized that his explanation wouldn't be enough to convince them. However, after a moment of silence, he came out with it anyways. "They don't all look the same," his voice settled. "And I don't have some kind of connection. It's just… I know that wasn't her. I can't explain it, but I know it wasn't."

"Boy, you're absolutely crazy," Rochelle's insult came. "You're starting to lose it. Are you seriously trying to defend yourself?"

"I don't need your damn approval to know what I know," he shot. "And I don't give a shit whether you or anyone else in this godforsaken world believes me. That wasn't the same one, and I know it." Nick grimaced as he turned his attention away from both Coach and Rochelle, who were glaring at him in complete silence. His eyes turned to the bloody remains of the witch that lie dead on the ground, her body mangled and destroyed. However, if there was one thing that remained in contact, it was her face. The witch's mouth was open in a silent shriek, revealing her jagged rows of razor sharp teeth.

_That's not the same one, _Nick reaffirmed to himself. _If there's one damn thing that I'm sure of in this world anymore, it's that that's not the same one._


	5. Chapter 5

_Hey guys! Sorry it took me so long to post this next chapter, I was really busy ;P But I got some really great reviews so I guess that means I got the green light to continue this story! (For now, at least! Hehe!) I'm sorry, this one's a little boring, I'll admit! But it's got some important things in here, I promise! I also promise that the next one will be really exciting, just you wait! Thanks for reading! And remember: Reviews are always helpful, no matter what!_

The four survivors waited quietly in the broken down radio station, taking an ample break after the surprise witch attack on Rochelle. The girl sat motionlessly, switching her gaze from the carpet beside her to her wrapped up arm. Though the bandages that had been applied to her wounds were now stained with crimson, they had done their job well and helped cease her bleeding.

Coach was crouched next to her, remaining loyally by her side like a dog. He based his shotgun off the ground and held it barrel-up, ready for anything that could've come through the radio station's agape doors. A cold breeze came in from the night sky beyond, sending chills up and down his spine as though it were whispering death into his ears.

Ellis kept himself occupied as he leaned against the wall next to the receptionist's desk of the lobby they occupied, his toes tapping at a shard of broken glass as though waiting for it to react. His hands were shoved in his pockets as his gun leaned beside him, rested on the very point of the barrel.

Nick, however, had found his own place on the opposite side of the room from the others in his group. He sat leaned against the lobby's wall, his legs slightly drawn as he rested his arms on his knees. His own gun, the AK-47, waited humbly by his side, pointed towards the door just in case he would have to grab it and fire on the spot. In times like those, there was no such thing as being too careful.

It had been ten minutes since the witch attack came to a bloody end, and the news that there was no functioning radio inside of the station had been shared. Nick had to admit that he wasn't sure if they were still sitting pointlessly because of Rochelle's injury, or because they had all lost hope in escaping the city and needed some time to mourn the death of their plan.

Nick sighed as he hung his head, rubbing his temples with his left hand for some form of consolidation.

The radio station had been their only plan of escape ever since they had crash landed on the outskirts of New York City. The four had met the pilot of the private jet while scanning the streets of Louisiana for any signs of food or shelter. The man, whom had lost all hope, was found cowering in a broken-down freezer storage at the back of a restaurant, rocking back and forth in a ball as he whispered nonsensical words to himself. He explained to the fellow survivors that he had a jet grounded not too far away from the location, but it was out of fuel and the original group he was traveling with became infected. It was only then that Nick noticed the bloodstained skillet that was clutched in his fingers, holding it as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.

Nick knew there was something wrong with the man from the get-go. His eyes were hazy and his words were slightly slurred, though he was fully conscious and his reflexes were nothing short of instantaneous, proven when the five scurried around the hangar for gas cans while fighting off a massive horde. Once the jet was fueled, the survivors had jumped in and flown out of what they believed was the only infected Hell-on-Earth. They celebrated too early—even Nick was already beginning to dream of a life that resumed as normal… or as normal as a conman's life could be. However, drinking-induced comas and running from the police sounded like a dream as compared to what had occurred in the past few days.

However, a few hours into the flight the plane jerked hard left and threw the four survivors in the cabin of the small plane to the side, leaving them to wonder what the hell had just happened. Nick was the first one to go check on the cockpit, where he discovered that he was right all along—the pilot was infected, and was doing a less-than-acceptable job flying the aircraft. After putting a bullet or two in the man's head, he attempted to take over the job of piloting the aircraft to safety. Unfortunately, his flying license was just as invisible as his right to own guns. However, he still managed to even out the plane and skid it along the desolate outskirts of what the survivors later discovered to be New York City.

Ever since they had set foot on the cracked streets of the city itself, the radio station's high tower was a beacon of hope to them. It was the only plan they had—to reach the tower and escape with their lives after calling in another plane.

It would seem as though that dream was gone now.

Nick heaved out another disappointed sigh as he ran his fingers through his dark, greasy hair, shaking his head slowly.

"Well, what now?"

All eyes turned to Ellis, who was the only one brave enough to address the question that buzzed around in their hearts and minds. Though it wasn't a question that anyone wanted to hear, it was one that needed to be answered if they continued to desire living.

However, silence was exchanged with hopeful glances that the four survivors threw at each other, praying one of them would have the plan that would be the solution to all their problems. No one spoke a single word.

"Let's face it," Nick groaned as he leaned his head back against the wall, staring up at the faded plaster job on the ceiling. "This is going to hell. There's no way we're getting out of the city."

"Don't start talking like that now," Coach immediately scolded, his voice booming with denial. "There's another way… there's _got_ to be another way."

"We could always just walk out of the city," Ellis offered his help as he pulled his hands out of his pocket and began to twiddle with a piece of lint he found there. "I mean, it would take a long time, but we could do it."

"And go where, overalls?" Nick sighed with a shake of his head. "And who knows how far this god damn infection spread? We could be walking for days and still not see an end to it. Didn't you ever think that maybe the entire continent's been infected with this shit? It's spanned from Louisiana to New York, for Christ's sake."

Silence filled the room once more as the statement hit hard and took a heavy toll on the morale of the survivors. Not even Coach attempted to defy the logic—he only allowed his eyes to drop to the floor in what Nick could've interpreted as surrender.

"Well, I ain't just gonna sit here and die," Ellis finally spoke, his heavily accented voice filled with determination. "That's quitter shit. As long as I'm alive I'm gonna try and find a way out of this hole and back to somewhere that's still safe."

"Yeah?" Nick blew off the kid's annoying enthusiasm. "And how are you planning on doing that?"

"I'm gonna get off my ass and stop pitying myself, first," his immediate response came. "We ain't gonna get nothing done if we just sit here like this."

"You know what?" Rochelle's voice finally came as if Ellis had just announced the meaning of life. "Ellis is right. We can't give up; the worst that can happen is that we go down trying. Same thing will happen if we just sit here."

Nick slowly lifted his eyes to meet Rochelle's, who returned his glance without any trace of anger. It was as if she was a new person, lifted by the spirit of hope that Ellis had created. However, he only dropped his gaze back down to the floor in defeat.

"If you're in it, baby girl," Coach said as he took a deep breath before finishing his sentence, "I am, too."

Silence filled the room, but Nick knew that it hadn't been created out of hopelessness. He could feel the others staring at him, waiting for him to jump in with both feet just like they had. After a few seconds of the tense silence, he lifted his head to find that his suspicion was correct—all three pairs of eyes were locked on him, waiting for him to say something.

"You guys are crazy," he sighed as he shook his head. "I'm starting to like it."

Nick's three teammates grinned approvingly at each other. A new sense of drive and purpose radiated from everyone in the room as they made their unspoken pact to continue moving forward until their last breath.

"Alright, so what's the plan?" Nick asked, actually hoping that someone would say something this time. Much to his relief, Ellis answered immediately.

"We passed a really tall building on our way over here a day ago," he pointed to a random corner of the room excitedly. "It looked like it had those blinking lights that they use to beckon in helicopters and stuff. I bet there's a helipad on top of it."

"And where there's a helipad," Coach thoughtfully finished Ellis's statement, "there's a radio."

"Hopefully one that works," Nick added.

"With how we've been moving, we could get there by sunset tomorrow if we start moving at sunrise after a quick rest," Ellis continued with his brilliant plan, the approval of his peers encouraging him to speak. "Shouldn't take too long to climb up the stairs, neither. We'll be there in no time."

"Well then it's settled," Coach took charge as he stood up from his crouch beside Rochelle, puffing out his chest as though he had created the new plan himself. "Let's get some sleep in one of these rooms, ya'll. We'll start moving first thing tomorrow."

The hot, torrid daytime sun had been slept away by the four survivors, whose gas station basement served perfectly as an underground shelter from the extreme weather. When the heat had radiated off the black asphalt, even the roaming zombies slowed their pace down to a sluggish drag. Zoey had never been able to understand how the days of the city were so damn hot while the nights were so unbearably cold.

However, the sun had recently fled from the arrival of the moon, who had taken its place by force with its army of stars and black skies. It was normally around that time that the survivors ate a quick dinner, replenishing their energy and preparing for the perilous journey that waited ahead.

Francis and Louis had been put in charge of scavenging for food in what was left on the gas station's looted, broken shelves. Luckily, they managed to bring back a few packages of ground beef and buns from what they later realized was a gas station originally connected to a grocery store that had been razed to the ground when the infection had begun. After slapping themselves in the head for not noticing the fact earlier, the four survivors, as well as their new, unlikely friend, had also managed to stumble upon a small microwave and a battery-powered generator in the employee room of the station. It seemed as though luck was finally beginning to move to their favor.

The soft buzzing of the microwave's rays droned monotonously in the room as everyone took turns to cook their crudely assembled burgers. Unfortunately, there wasn't a single electric stove or propane tank in sight due to the probable looting once the infection had started. Fire was always a good ally in times like those. However, the survivors had managed to make due and, with the aid of all minds put together, came to the solution that if they threw the patties in the microwave long enough, it would probably cook itself. Bill had the honor of cooking the first patty, though it seemed as though the only reason he did so was because everyone else was afraid to try it out. When the method, however, proved to be effective, Zoey was immediately next in line, and had offered to cook something for Hope. When the witch kindly declined her offer, Francis was quick to jump forward, his stomach growling louder than any tank Zoey had ever heard.

"Damn it," the biker cursed as he stared into the microwave's small door impatiently, the yellow light inside beaming off his face. "Why the hell's this taking so long? I only put it in there for two minutes!"

Louis couldn't help but laugh at the man's grimace of frustration. "A watched pot never boils, big guy."

"Well I ain't watching a pot," Francis's naïve reply came, allowing a giggle to pass through Zoey's lips. "I'm watching this damn microwave."

Bill sighed as he shook his head in the corner of the room, taking a bite out of his own burger that he was already halfway through. "Sometimes I wonder how far you went in school, Francis."

The burly man blew off the insult and stared deep into the turning platter inside the microwave. Zoey had to admit she was fully convinced that if he focused on it any harder, the patty would burst into flames.

A quick, loud pop came from the inside of the microwave, startling everyone in the room and causing their eyes to snap to it. Francis flinched back in surprise as the small box's light immediately dimmed, though it continued to function and beeped loudly, signaling that the two tediously long minutes were finally over.

"What the hell was that?" Francis asked as he pressed the eject button. With a loud "clang", the microwave's door popped open, revealing his cooked, steaming hamburger inside. He reached his hand in, grabbed the platter of food, and pulled it out quickly as if afraid the kitchen electronic would bite his wrist off.

Zoey watched as Francis backed away, allowing Louis to crouch down next to the microwave and look inside of its maw. "Looks like one side of the microwave broke down," he theorized with a sigh. "Well, at least its half working. I should still be able to cook mine." Without any further complaining, Louis picked up his chunk of raw, circle-molded hamburger meat and tossed it onto the plate, closing the microwave door before turning to Bill and asking, "So how long did you put it in there?"

"Two minutes for me," the vet replied as he took the final bite out of his burger.

Louis shrugged and turned the protruding wheel on the face of the microwave until the digital display showed the numbers, "2:00" in bright green. Satisfied with is precise work, he pushed the start button and watched as the microwave hummed back to life, though it was just as dim inside as when Francis's turn had ended.

Zoey sighed as she leaned back and took a bite out of her well-done hamburger patty. The meat was dry and tasteless from the time that it spent outside of a functioning freezer unit, but food was food nonetheless, and it didn't appear to be too spoiled to the point of poisoning.

Beside her, Hope leaned on her shoulder, her soft white hair draped on the left arm that Zoey kept rested on her own lap. The human girl wasn't sure why the witch didn't accept the offer of food—there was no way she'd eaten in the last day, and she had to have been hungry. However, she had managed to come to the conclusion that because the girl was infected, her stomach must not have been the same, and therefore, didn't require the same amount of food to function.

Zoey found her eyes trace back to the witch's head, whose face gazed straight forward as if observing the other two men eat. She had an intense expression on as she watched Francis wolf down his burger at a pace that Zoey could only describe as the "you're going to have a heart attack any second now" pace. However, she wasn't sure whether the witch was watching it out of disgust, or just pure interest that a human man could swallow a burger probably faster than a hunter could devour a person. Whatever it was, the girl's face brought a smile onto Zoey's lips.

She didn't understand why, but for some reason, she found she couldn't look away from Hope. The witch, who was oblivious to Zoey's dazed stare, continued to watch as Francis a large bite of his burger, sighed heavily in satisfaction, and leaned back against the wall behind him, picking his teeth with his pinky finger while holding what remained in his right hand.

Hope was…

There was something different about her. It wasn't only different in the fact that she was an infected witch that still managed to retain some form of intelligence and emotion; Zoey had far looked past _what_ she was, and was now lost in the idea of _who_ she was.

Hope was a shy girl that couldn't have been any older than thirteen when she was infected. It made Zoey wonder what kinds of horrors she had to go through before she turned. Where were the girl's parents? Why didn't she manage to make it out of the city? What did she see before she was infected?

Zoey grimaced. Whatever she saw, it couldn't have been pleasant; it couldn't have been anything short of the word terrifying. It brought pain to her heart when she thought about the face of the terrified girl right before she was bitten… right as she stared deep into the infected creature's eyes before being transformed into one of them. There was so much that Zoey wanted to know… so much she wanted to hear… but unfortunately, due to the girl's apparent speech inability, they were questions that would have to forever go unanswered.

A loud, single beeping noise snapped Zoey out of her thoughts. She looked up to where it came from and found that the microwave had emitted the intrusion, practically screaming to the world that it was finished as though it were the greatest achievement in its life.

Louis groaned as he leaned forward from his sitting position and opened the door, seizing his burger from the inside before closing it once again and leaning back onto the wall. Zoey watched as he looked at it with his eyes full of the same appetite that he held in his stomach before taking a large bite out of it, shoving as much as he could into his mouth at once.

The man chewed graciously as he took in every bit of flavor that was left on the beefy patty.

Hope lifted her head. Zoey returned her attention to the pale girl, who had her nose in the air, sniffing around as though she had caught the scent of something interesting-

-a loud growling noise was made.

Zoey jumped before she located the source of the sound and found that she was looking down at the witch's stomach. The tiny, practically nonexistent gut emitted another low growl as it begged for the food that Hope was refusing it. Zoey looked up to the girl's crimson eyes to find that she had turned a deep red. The witch broke eye contact quickly and looked down at the floor in front of her as if shameful that she was hungry.

Zoey opened her mouth and began to offer the witch some of her own burger, but quickly shut it as she realized that she felt nothing left between her fingers. She looked down at her right hand and found that the only remnants of her dinner were the bread crumbs that littered the floor around her.

She must've been hungrier than she thought… she didn't even remember finishing the burger.

Feeling sheepish as ever, Zoey leaned down to the girl and changed her question of offer to a question of, "Are you hungry?"

Shyly, Hope nodded her head, allowing her white hair to cover her face as she hid in embarrassment. Zoey reached a hand over and gently pushed the bangs out of the girl's face, smiling as the two locked eyes. "You don't need to be ashamed because of it," the human girl reassured as she stroked Hope's pale cheek.

"Here," Francis was quick to speak, taking their attention away from each other and landing it on himself. He sat with his arm outstretched, chewing with his mouth open as he offered what was left of his burger to her. "You can have mine…" He then added strongly, trying to prove his tough stature, "I mean, only if you want. Not like I care if you don't."

As if asking for permission, Hope's eyes turned back to Zoey's, who let out a small breath of laughter and nodded. Slowly, the witch turned and began to crawl cautiously towards Francis on all fours, her head lowered beneath her shoulders with nerve. "C'mon," the biker said as he shook the burger in his hand. "I'm not gonna hurt ya." However, she stopped her approach once she was a foot away from the burger, her crimson eyes locked on the half-eaten offering. Zoey watched curiously as the girl lifted her nose, sniffing the burger before snapping her eyes to Francis, as if half-expecting him to pull it back and slap her across the face as some form of cruel joke.

Much to everyone's surprise, Hope pulled away from the offering, but continued to sniff the air. The four survivors watched in silence as she closed her eyes and continued to lock onto whatever had brought her nose so much interest. Slowly, she turned towards Louis's direction. The man froze, caught with his mouth open, the burger only inches away from his jaws as he watched Hope begin to crawl towards him, allowing her sense of smell to guide the way. Once she was only a foot away from his burger, the girl opened her eyes, then quickly turned red and glanced away as she realized she was staring into Louis's eyes.

Louis smiled as he shook his head and lowered the burger from his mouth. "Hey, it's okay, you want mine? I'm done with it anyways, it doesn't taste that great and the microwave did a crappy job cooking it."

Hope's eyes locked onto Louis's for a moment as if judging his sincerity. She then turned back and looked at Zoey, silently asking for permission once again. The human girl nodded, allowing Hope to turn back to the unfamiliar man, his food outstretched towards her. The witch looked at the offering with a look that contained both guilt and shyness. However, when Louis gave her a reassuring smile, Hope reached out with her long, razor-sharp claws and took the burger gently in her fingers, allowing the man to release it.

"What?" Francis's voice came in a confused outburst. "What's so different about mine? It's not like I poisoned it or anything, what did I do wrong?"

Zoey laughed as she shook her head. "Maybe she's just afraid of you. You were, after all, the hardest one to convince."

The biker exchanged glances with everyone in the room, his own face stuck in a wide eyed, "I can't believe this" expression. However, when he found that they were all chuckling at his offense, he only crossed his arms childishly, leaned back, and took a large bite out of his burger, chewing with abandon. "Well I think it's just as good."

Zoey returned her attention back to Hope, who was crawling to the corner away from everyone else. She watched curiously as the infected girl turned her face away from visibility, and making sure that no one could watch her, devoured the burger in an instant.

"I could've sworn just a second ago she said she wasn't hungry," Bill teased as the red-faced girl slowly crawled back to Louis, who seemed just as terrified of the girl as the night before when he had originally met her.

Hope stopped only an inch away from his face, both their noses barely separated as they stared into each other's eyes. However, Louis let out a nervous laugh as he broke eye contact and muttered, "I… Uh… is this your way of saying 'thank you'? You're… umm… welcome."

Satisfied that she had gotten the message across, Hope crawled back over to Zoey and leaned against her shoulder. The human girl continued to run her fingers affectionately through the girl's white hair as the survivors waited for Francis to stubbornly finish his burger. Once he had taken down the last bite, Bill wasted no time in starting their journey for the night.

"Alright," he said with a groan as he stood up, his knees cracking loudly as he went. Tension rose in the room as everyone waited for what they knew would follow his deep breath. "Night's not going to wait for us to move. Let's get out of here."


	6. Chapter 6

_Hey guys! I didn't get too much feedback from chapter 5, hehe, I guess it was a little TOO boring ;P Well, like I promised, this one's sure to keep you on the end of your seat... or at least I hope! Hehe! ^^ Well, I hope you guys enjoy! _

The night seemed to be much darker as usual as Zoey strained her eyesight to make the shots that would prove crucial to their survival. She held her hunting rifle steady as she lined the crosshairs of the scope with the farthest zombie's head, who was completely unaware of her present existence. With a slow, steady squeeze of the trigger, the rifle kicked backwards, sending a bullet flying out of the barrel. Pure satisfaction filled her body as the common infected man's head popped like a melon, sending chunks of meat and brain all over the pavement around him as he buckled to his knees, then fell over quietly. However, just like the last five kills that she had scored, the zombies around the target didn't acknowledge the death of their brethren. Instead, they continued to stagger mindlessly around the street, groaning hungrily and waiting for food to fly into their open yaps.

A quick burst of a fully automatic gun echoed off the buildings around her. Zoey removed the scope from her eyes to see that Bill, with his M-16 already switching carefully to another target, had blown off another skull of an infected creature much closer than she was targeting for herself. He knelt down in prone, the gun fully obeying the masterful hands of the old veteran.

On both sides of him were Louis and Francis, who, as well as Bill, were picking off targets at a closer range, allowing Zoey to fire upon those at much further intervals. She had never understood what caused the infected to gather in certain spots; it seemed that during their journey through New York City, there were random concentrations of the infected simply standing around, while at other times they would see only five or six in a radius of miles around. Her hypothesis? That it was possible those areas were high-opportunity feeding spots, where other survivors or perhaps even civilians during the initial infection were prominent. After all, the infected were always hungry.

Though it slowed down the survivors' forward progress when they encountered these massive gatherings, it did far from stop them. Luckily, because of the oblivious nature of the common infected, it didn't take a lot of effort to clear an entire street filled with them. Unfortunately, however, what that did mean was that there were also zombies inside of the buildings and out of sight from Zoey and the others' current position.

A soft whine came from behind Zoey, followed by a light tap on her shoulder. The girl slowly lowered the sniper scope from her eyes once again and turned to find that Hope was staring up at a building to the left of them, her eyes zeroed in to a spot on the roof with her neck craned forward. Her pale expression showed a form of concern—there was something there.

"Guys," Zoey whispered to the others without taking her eyes off the spot. "I think Hope heard something up there."

The random bursts of gunfire came to a halt as Bill, Louis, and Francis all turned their attention to where the two girls were staring. They remained silent, hoping to hear some form of a sound that would give away the identity of whatever was attracting Hope's attention so much.

However, after almost three minutes of standing still, Francis groaned as he shook his head. "Is she sure that she heard something?"

Zoey turned her head to the witch, who returned the gaze with her worried eyes. There was no doubt about it—Hope had heard something. There was definitely a form of fear in her expression that continued to grow by the second as she silently pleaded Zoey to believe her. "I know, girl, I know," the human comforted her with a nod. "I don't doubt you heard something. But we can't stay here—we have to keep moving forward. We'll stay on as high alert as possible, alright?" She then smiled at the pale girl. "I promise we'll all make it safely."

As if reassured by the words, Hope gave a slow, weak nod, obviously trying to force herself to calm down.

The bursts of gunfire and the occasional explosion of the sniper rifled resumed, though Zoey glanced to the side where Hope had indicated after every single shot she made. She knew that whatever was there had to have been gone already, or it would've given itself away with a key growl that was unique to each special infected.

After five more minutes of fire, Zoey strained her eyes through the scope to see if she could spot any more targets in their path. She looked over the roofs of the cars that lined the streets' sides for any sign of the top of a head. She scanned all around dead street lights and mailboxes for any deformity in their silhouette, but when she found none, lowered her hunting rifle and turned to the other men, who were looking back at her, waiting for a sign of approval. "It looks clear," she answered their question with a nod as she flicked her rifle on safety and slung it behind her shoulder. The men stood up, no longer forced to crouch from the fear of being accidentally shot in the head, and waited for Zoey to pull out her Colt from its holster before they made their next move.

"Alright, keep your eyes open for our current position's blind spots as we move forward," Bill briefed as he did after every zombie-picking spree. He rested his M-16A4 around his shoulders on the sling as he reached into his pocket and took out his box of cigarettes. Taking one out, he lit it with his signature silver butane lighter, its scars and dulled sides just as old as he was. "We'll move together in the normal formation. Let's get a move on."

As he had addressed, the vet stepped forward and took point in the front of the formation. He was quickly followed by Zoey, who watched the right, Louis, who watched the left, and Francis, who brought up the rear with his meat-grinder of an automatic shotgun. However, confused as to where to go and what her position was in the formation, Hope remained next to Zoey, keeping close enough as to be safe but far away enough to give her much-needed gun space.

The diamond formation moved forward at a steady pace. Only the occasional gunshot coming from Bill's weapon interrupted the sounds of footsteps on asphalt as they made their way down the street.

Zoey kept her eyes peeled and her flashlight weaving in and out of the buildings that were on her assigned side. Every single empty building she passed just built up tension that much more in anticipation of the next one. Though startled common infected were easy targets, she never got over the initial surprise factor.

"Hold up."

The formation came to a screeching halt as Bill's calm yet intense voice broke through the silence. Zoey turned to him and found that he was looking around the rooftops, his eyes narrowed in focus. "You hear that? Sounds like a hunter."

Zoey swallowed hard.

If there was something she learned about the infected creatures' movement patterns, it was that special infected never traveled alone. They were always accompanied by one or more, working together in order to achieve a quick meal for the time. Worst of all, they coordinated their attacks well; never before had Zoey seen any lapse in teamwork when the special infected attacked their targets.

The low growling of the hunter that Bill had called out graced her ears. Though it was audible, she couldn't pinpoint the exact location of where it was coming from. The growl was tossed up into the sky, filling the air around them and giving them the perception of a hundred hunters surrounding them.

Zoey turned only her head to face Hope, whose eyes were concentrated as she attempted to assist the survivors in their search for the hunter or any other infected that were traveling with him. "Is this what you heard?" she whispered, catching the witch's attention. "Is this what you were trying to-"

"Spitter!"

Louis's high-pitched call jerked Zoey out of her silence as adrenalin shot through her body. She snapped her head to where the man was pointing, and found the target she was looking for.

The spitter's elongated, bloody jaw was open in a large grin as she arched her extended neck backwards, taking a deep breath before jerking back forward and coughing out a large ball of sizzling, green acid.

"Move!" Francis yelled as the four survivors scrambled away from the predicted LZ.

Zoey took five sprinting steps to the right side, Hope keeping with her, and turned back just in time to see that the acid vat was now where they had been standing before, bubbling and hissing violently. However, the vile infected woman had done her job—the four survivors were now separated, allowing the spitter to charge at Louis, her arm cocked high above her head as she prepared to strike him down. Taking no time for granted, Zoey snapped the hunting rifle's scope to her sights and took aim on the hideous creature-

-"Hunter!"

Francis's terrified holler snapped Zoey out of her aim on the spitter's screeching head—Louis would have to take care of himself. She turned to her left, and much to her surprise, found Francis running around in circles, narrowly dodging the various attempts of the hunter's screeching tackle. He fired a few rounds at it, but found that he had just as much trouble hitting the infected creature as the hunter had with hitting him.

Zoey lifted the sight of the scope to her eye once again and tracked the hunter's movements, studying its movement pattern that Francis was unknowingly providing as he ran in a circle. Once learned, Zoey held the crosshairs steady at a seemingly random location a few feet off the ground—the hunter would be there any second now.

Just as she had predicted, Francis passed through the sights just a split second before the hunter did. Zoey snapped the trigger in and the hunting rifle jerked to life, sending a bullet on a one-way path into the hunter's head. She caught the infected creature mid-jump, causing it to shriek quickly before being thrown into a flat spin, rag dolling to the ground and lying still, never to harm anyone again.

Before Zoey had a chance to celebrate, Bill's grunting yells filled the air. Both she and Francis turned to find that he was slowly being dragged away on the concrete into a dark building where the smoker was hiding around the corner and out of sight. The vet desperately clawed at the concrete sidewalk, but to no avail.

Zoey snapped her gun up, but was quickly stopped as out of the corner of her eye, Hope charged forward, her long claws arched behind her back. The human girl lowered her sniper and watched in both surprise and fascination as the witch reached the tongue of the smoker in a heartbeat, and with a single swipe, sliced the red tendril in half. The sound of the smoker's screech could be heard inside the building as Bill was released from its hold. He scrambled to his feet and tore off what was remaining of the appendage that wrapped round his body.

The job well done, Hope ran back to Zoey's side as Bill scraped his dropped M-16A4 off the ground and charged in front of the building where the smoker was hiding. He fired a few rounds into the room, the bright flashes of bullets disappearing behind the wall where Zoey guessed the smoker was in plain sight for him. With a loud cough, a popping noise was made, quickly followed by a plume of green smoke that dissipated into the air in a matter of moments.

Zoey turned to Hope, who was still on high alert, her eyes scanning around the buildings for any sign of a further struggle. The human girl reached her hand out, ready to pat the witch on the head and congratulate her for a job well done-

-a loud alarm began to blare.

Zoey yanked her arm back down to her side as she, Hope, and Bill all turned to where the hideously loud noise was coming from. However, what they saw made them want to turn away and pretend as though it never happened.

Francis and Louis were standing before a bloody, ripped-up spitter who was lying on the hood of a car, her jaw agape as she slowly slid down the frame, dead. However, a few bullet holes rigged the vehicle itself, which must've triggered the screaming alarm.

"Francis!" Bill yelled in frustration. The biker, who had a guilty look plastered to his face, immediately pointed to Louis, who flinched in confusion before slapping the man's hand away.

A series of loud, high-pitched screeches filled the air all around the survivors, who were slowly gathering back to the center of the street, their guns pointed every which direction.

"What do we do?" Louis asked as the sounds of pounding footsteps became louder and louder.

"We find where the bastards are coming from and give 'em hell," Francis's immediate response came in conjunction with the sounds of him loading shells into his shotgun. He gave the weapon a hearty cock before turning back to face the others. "Does anyone else have a better idea?"

No one had time to speak up before the zombie horde turned the corner of an alleyway ten buildings down from their current location, giving them ample time to react. Zoey counted five at first, then fifteen, then twenty before Bill and Louis began to unload their fully automatic weapon into the mass. The front row of zombies twitched and jerked before the bullets finally hit something important and dropped them to the ground, only to be replaced by those behind them.

Zoey stepped to the side to get out from behind the two and lifted her hunting rifle to her shoulder. However, instead of using the scope to get the shots in, she began to fire the rounds from the hip; there were so many of them, there was no way she could miss. The piercing rounds blew through seven zombie bodies, dropping them to the ground before they were trampled by the others, their ravenous hunger driving them mindlessly forward.

The explosions of Francis's automatic shotgun rounds finally joined the chorus. Zoey watched as line after line, the infected creatures dropped to the ground. However, their numbers seemed endless, and she was only a round or two away from having to reload. Every single infected creature they shot seemed to be replaced by ten others who were still filtering out from the back of the alleyway—there was no way they'd be able to win this fight if shooting was their only tactic-

-a loud roar rumbled the very ground below them. Zoey snapped her head beside her to see that the three men, though their guns continued to fire, were also exchanging the same terrified, wide-eyed look that she was giving from the corner of their eyes.

A whimper came from beside her. Zoey turned to find that Hope was nervously switching her gaze from the approaching horde to the human girl, her eyes shining with fear.

So that's what she had heard before.

Another loud roar shook the earth, but this time, it was closer. The sounds of what could only be compared to a rhinoceros's charge became more and more audible, though the source was still nowhere to be found.

"What the hell is that?" Francis finally screamed, asking the question that they never wanted to see the answer for.

"I'll give you three guesses!" Bill returned.

All hazy medians were destroyed as a towering figure turned the corner from where the zombies had originally come from. Though it was in the back of the horde, the creature's bulky, massive build could be seen a foot above the infected that stood between it and the survivors. Zoey watched in terror as the creature charged through the swarm, zombie bodies flying in the air as it casually swatted them out of the way.

"Zoey!" Bill called as her rifle came to a clicking silence. She cursed to herself and pressed the magazine eject button, causing the spent cartridge to clack noisily to the ground before she reached into her pocket with a shaking hand for full one. Her trembling fingers had a hard time locking around the figure of the magazine. Zoey yelled a loud curse word as she seized the magazine, yanked it out of her pocket, and slammed it into the feed of her rifle. She cocked the bolt back and waited for Bill's further orders. "You and Francis focus fire on the tank! Louis and I will keep the damn zombies off you for as long as we can!"

"Got it!" she acknowledged as she brought the scope to her eyes. The crosshairs came into plain view at the exact same time the tank did.

The giant, lumbering creature ape-sprinted towards the survivors, its massive muscles flexing all around its tiny head with every single powerful bound. Zoey locked the hunting rifle's crosshairs on the tiny target of its skull and fired two rounds in quick succession. The first round blew a clean hole through the tank's head, but the second one was thrown a little low from over-compensation of the gun's kick, and collided harmlessly into its chest.

The tank roared as it closed the distance of ten buildings to five buildings between the two opposing forces, pushed on by the idea of the kill.

Francis let out a loud battle-cry as his shotgun kicked to life, firing numerous rounds into the charging creature's body. The tank let out a few grunts in quick succession as the powerful semi-automatic meat grinder blasted through his rotting flesh, slowing him down considerably.

"Keep it up, guys!" Louis screamed in both horror and excitement as he saw the tank come to a halt.

However, celebrations came too early as the tank arched its giant arms high above its head, and with a grunt of effort, slammed its sausage-thick fingers into the asphalt. Zoey watched in terror as the massive special infected creature's muscles bulged. A large chunk of the road, at least the size of a minivan, was torn out of the ground and lifted high above its head.

"HOLY SHIT!" Francis screamed as the tank hurled the mass at the survivors. "MOVE!"

Zoey jumped as far as she could to the right in a single bound, Hope following her action move by move. The two girls landed neatly on their feet and turned to find that much to their terror, Louis had tripped and was on the ground, staring up at the descending boulder as if accepting his own death.

"Louis!" Bill yelled as he hopped towards his fallen comrade, his inner veteran taking over. He grabbed the businessman by the collar and, with a powerful yank, threw Louis a good four feet over to where Francis was already firing at the tank. The old man then made a desperate last-minute dodge, but was a split-second too late.

Zoey gasped in horror as the chunk of asphalt exploded at the vet's jumping feet. Bill let out a cry of anguish as he was thrown to the ground hard, chunks of jagged rock and turf turning into ballistics and cutting his body.

"Bill!" Zoey screamed as she rushed to his side. The man groaned in a daze as she grabbed him underneath his arms and yanked up as hard as she could. "C'mon! I'm only half your size, get up!"

As if Zoey's voice snapped him out of his daze, Bill's eyes popped open as he pushed himself up, and under the cover of Francis and Louis's gunfire, swooped down and picked up his fallen M-16A4. "C'mon! We gotta get out of here! Get Hope and let's go!"

Hope.

Zoey snapped her attention to where she had left he terrified witch behind. However, what she saw she never would have expected.

Hope's entire body was shaking, her eyes wide with an expression that Zoey just couldn't describe. The pale infected girl's breathing came in staggering intervals as she stared in fear at Bill, her eyes snapping from one bleeding cut on his body to another.

Was she… _worried_ about the man?

Before Zoey could do a thing, Hope turned and began to sprint towards the building she was closest to—a large, towering structure that stood proudly, its head scraping against the sky.

"Hope!" Zoey screamed, hoping to get the fleeing witch's attention as she fired a few bullets at the still-advancing tank. "HOPE!"

"Go!" Bill's urgent solution came. Zoey snapped her attention back to him to find that he was spraying bullets no longer at what few zombies remained in the horde, but the massive tank's head, who seemed generally unfazed. "Go get her! Stay in the building and wait for us to come get you!"

Zoey paused a moment as she considered Bill's offer of leaving her three friends behind—was it really the right decision?

However, her mind was made up as the witch disappeared, swallowed by the shadows that waited within the towering structure.

Hope was her friend, too.

Zoey nodded a quick thanks, and driven by adrenalin, sprinted into the building as she clicked her rifle onto safety and threw it over her shoulder before yanking out her colt.

Every sense and bit of logic screamed for her to get out of the building once she entered through the shattered glass doors. It was completely dark inside, forcing her to switch on her flashlight in order to see anything at all. However, the sounds of the horde outside, as well as the growling of the tank, carried her further in. She sacrificed safety for speed as she ran through the lobby of the business building, searching desperately for where her friend had gone-

-a scurrying noise was made.

Zoey felt her heart skip a beat as she snapped the flashlight to the source of the sound. There, she saw the pale foot of her friend escaping up the stairwell. "Hope!" she called desperately as she changed directions and pursued the witch. Zoey sprinted up the stairs, hearing the pattering of bare feet as they echoed off the staircase's narrow walls. The sounds of struggle outside died away as she chased the girl higher and higher. "Hope! Wait!"

She pursued the witch up five flights of stairs before the sounds of Hope's footsteps ceased—she must've exited on the next floor. Zoey pushed her tired, sweating body as hard as she could, sprinting up the few stairs that separated her from the next floor's exit door. She sprinted out of the entrance to the sixth floor and looked around, checking in a split second for any dawdling common infected before switching her search target back to Hope.

"Hope?" Zoey called out in both fear for her friend and fear of being alone in the dark, desolate floor. "Hope! Where are you?"

A cracking noise caused the hairs on the back of Zoey's neck to stand on end as she snapped her pistol to the location. However, when she found nothing, another vague sounded invaded her senses. Zoey broke out in a cold sweat as her imagination acted up, causing her ears to play tricks on her.

"Hope?" she called out again as she moved forward, speed walking around the cubicles and snapping her flashlight into every single one of them just to be safe. The sounds continued to taunt her ears, causing her to increase her pace from pure fear. Zoey felt her throat clog up, her eyes welling with tears as the terror of being alone got to her head. "Hope!" her voice cracked desperately. "Hope! Where are you?"

A sniffle, and one that Zoey was sure of was not her imagination, echoed silently in the confided workspace. She ceased her movement and listened for the sound again, which luckily, came in only a moment's waiting. Zoey located the silent sob and jogged to the far corner of the room where she snapped her flashlight to-

-Zoey let out a yelp as the beam of light revealed an infected girl sitting on the floor. The human girl fell back, startled, panting for every breath she could take.

However, it only took her a second to realize that the girl she was pointing the flashlight at was none other than Hope. Zoey's nerves began to ease as she allowed herself to calm down; she wasn't alone anymore. The human girl slowly rose to a knee, leaning forward towards the girl as she took deep breaths. "Hope, c'mon," she said as she reached a hand forward-

-Zoey stopped. There was something wrong with Hope.

The witch was backed up into a corner, her knees drawn up to her body as she buried her face in her hands. Soft, pained sobs came from underneath the white veil of hair that hid her head from sight. However, the cries were not as Zoey had heard from other witches before. These ones were genuine tears of fear, as if the little girl that had been trapped inside the infected body was finally showing herself.

Zoey slowly inched her way closer to the witch, who made no move to acknowledge her presence. She only continued to cry the tears that yanked at the human girl's heart with every pained heave.

"Hope…" Zoey whispered as she felt her own tears begin to surface. These tears, however, were nothing like the ones of fear that she had only a few minutes ago. They were tears of sorrow and sympathy for the witch, who even though had her conscious mind and intelligence for so long, had hidden all the fear, showing strength at her age that nobody could even expect a grown man to have.

Zoey swallowed hard as she finally situated herself so that she was sitting right beside her emotionally wrecked friend. She reached a hand out and began to run her fingers softly through the girl's colorless hair, using her nails to scratch comfortingly at her scalp. "Hope… it's okay," Zoey whispered in a voice that she formed to be as affectionate and kind as possible, though her words cracked underneath her own sorrow. "The tank is gone now… there's nothing to be afraid of. It's just you and me. We're safe here… with each other."

Slowly, Hope sunk over and leaned her head on Zoey's chest, where she allowed her claws to fall from her face. The human girl wrapped her arms around the witch and held her tightly in an embrace that she not only showed love in, but hoped provided protection from the nightmares the girl was having.

Hope continued to cry as Zoey stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head affectionately, the girl's coarse hair scratching at her lips as she did so. However, the sobs settled into sniffles with laborious breaths as the witch attempted to keep her pride by hiding her tears.

"There, see?" she whispered. "Everything's okay. You're a tough girl, I know you are. I won't let anything hurt you, Hope. I never will.

I promise."

* * *

Nick felt his breath get caught in his throat as he almost stopped functioning. He looked around in shock at all the bodies that lined the streets, fresh blooding dripping out of their open bullet wounds. Amongst the seemingly endless corpses of common infected was what he could make out as the head-blown body of a hunter who lied on the asphalt, and the bullet-hosed, pale body of a spitter, green acid dripping down its open jaws, its eyes wide in what must've been its final expression. The hideous creature was lying next to a small car, its alarm light blinking silently inside.

A rather large hole was torn out of the ground in the middle of seemingly nowhere special, with crumbs of dirt and pavement strewn randomly around. The air was polluted with the stench of rotting flesh, which wasn't all too hard to explain the source.

"Ho-lee shit," Ellis pronounced every word. "Looks like some kind of zombie war or something, doesn't it?"

"Looks like we missed the gig," Nick muttered as he slung his readied AK-47 back around his shoulder. "Whoever did this left us some party favors."

The four survivors had sped up their pace after the sound of a car alarm echoed through what sounded like the entire city. Where there were car alarms, there had to be other survivors—the common infected didn't rock the vehicles hard enough to set one of them off. Unfortunately, because of their original distance from the epicenter of the action, it had taken them at least two hours to reach the building, which they soon learned was the target building Ellis had been talking about.

"Either the guys who did this had the same idea as we did coming here," Coach whistled as he continued to survey the wreckage, "or they just got really damn lucky… or unlucky."

"Whoever did it doesn't seem too bad with a gun," Ellis commented. "How many survivors do you think it took to do this?"

"At least six," Nick threw out a number after observing the number of common infected on the ground. "There's no way that a small group could've taken this many bastards down."

"We've lived through some pretty bad times ourselves, Nick," Rochelle objected. "Maybe there's a group that's just as experienced as we are."

Nick blew off the idea. The day that he met a group of survivors that lived through as much as they had was the day he'd give up his life as a conman.

"Well, I guess we should thank them if we find them," Coach sighed as he snapped out of his shocked state. He turned to the others and finished, "They did us a favor clearing this place out. Doesn't look like all the bodies here were from a horde—they're too spaced out. They must've triggered the horde shooting at some of the infected walking around."

"Pretty dumb," Ellis remarked as he shook his head. "It's not like the common infected even move too much—how'd they miss and hit a car?"

"There are some pretty bad shots out there, kid," Nick answered. "Hell, even worse than you."

"That ain't funny, Nick."

"Could've fooled me."

"Alright, enough you two," Coach stopped their piss-fight. "We came here to get to the top of this building. Let's just do that and look for a radio—this graveyard is giving me the creeps."

"I'm right with you big man," Rochelle shuddered.

Without any arguments, the survivors followed Coach into the front door of the towering structure, the darkness inside forcing them to draw their weapons and activate their flashlights. Four beams of light scanned around the first floor, digging deep inside dark rooms to reveal what treasures that had inside… or lack of treasures, so to speak.

"This place is dark as Hell," Ellis's predicted two-cents came in. "I can't see a thing outside my flashlight."

"Just keep your mouth closed and your eyes open, kid," Nick sighed, the anxiety burning deep into his patience. "The last thing I need is a blind spot right now."

"Hey boys," Rochelle's voice pierced the ominous silence, "I think I found the way up."

Nick turned to find that the girl was pointing to an open door with one finger. Her flashlight's beam invaded the darkness within and revealed a set of stairs that wound around out of sight.

"Guess a functioning elevator was too much to ask for," Coach growled as he slumped his shoulders.

"C'mon, big guy," Rochelle encouraged as she pat him on the back once before returning her steady hand to her sniper rifle. "We've done worse."

Coach nodded, took a deep breath, and began to lead the way to the staircase. He stopped in front of the first step and stared straight up through the gap between the winding structure, sighing as he saw all thirty seven stories laughing at him. "This is bullshit," he groaned before taking his first step. Nick was next to follow, slinging his gun as he held onto the rail.

"Once we get to the top it'll all be worth it," Ellis's optimism came from the rear of the survivors.

"Yeah," Nick drooled sarcastically, "or it'll be a waste of time and there won't be a functioning radio up there."

"Oh, quit being so negative, Nick," Rochelle scolded.

Behind them, Ellis's chuckle could be heard echoing off the stairwell. "Negative Nick. That's a good one."

Six flights of stairs brought the four to an open exit door, which Coach unsuspectingly took. Nick glanced behind him to Rochelle and Ellis, who only shrugged before they followed him out into the business room full of work cubicles. Surprisingly enough, the main structure and form of the office appeared to be intact.

"Coach," Nick whispered through the darkness, keeping his voice down in case there were a few hungry infected around. Though the stairwell seemed clear, he couldn't say he felt the same secure emptiness in the room. "What the hell are you doing?"

The large man groaned as he sat down next to a cubicle, leaning against it on his back as he lifted his head to take deep, gratifying breaths. "I need a break," he returned the whisper, understanding Nick's motives. "This shit ain't right."

"C'mon, big guy," Rochelle tried to press. "We have to keep moving. The sooner we get to the top, the sooner we can take our break."

"Baby girl," Coach groaned helplessly, "if there are those zombies at the top, and we keep going at this pace, I'll be the first one to go."

The girl sighed in defeat as she slid down on the wall opposite Coach, placing her sniper rifle on the ground beside her. "Alright, we'll take a quick break. But that's it."

Nick let out a groan of frustration as he rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding, Coach? Sometimes I wonder if we'd be out of the city by now without you."

"Nick," Rochelle shot with a dirty glare. "Coach has helped us more times than anyone else here. I don't see you taking point."

"Hey," the suited man shrugged. "Might as well use what you got while it's still there-"

-a whimper.

Nick felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as the light, quick high-pitched whine tore its way into his ears. He snapped his head down to the others, who looked back at him with the same look of fear that he displayed.

Rochelle mouthed the words, "What the hell was that?"

Slowly, Coach and the girl eased to their feet as quietly as possible, bringing their retired guns back to their hands.

Nick pointed to the far back right corner of the room where he had located the general source of the sound. With a quick nod and a hard swallow, Coach clutched his chrome shotgun tightly in his shaking hands as he took the lead. Nick followed closely, his AK-47 peeked out beside the large man's shoulders. Behind him, he only prayed that Ellis's gun was nowhere near his head.

The line of survivors snaked through the office cubicles slowly, each step amplified in the dead silence. Nick had to force his breathing to slow as he tried to remain as quiet as possible.

After what felt like hours of crouch-walking, the four survivors were kneeled down beside the wall of the last cubicle, the entrance to the box whispering death in their ears. Inside the last cubicle was where Nick was sure the sound had come from—unfortunately, no one really wanted to turn it.

However, much to his disappointment, Coach's left hand lifted into the air, though he kept his eyes straight forward. He displayed three fingers, which quickly reduced to two, then one. Nick squeezed his AK-47 tightly in his hands as he made last-minute mental preparations a moment before the final finger went down.

The four survivors rushed around the corner, snapping their guns to what their flashlights revealed to be an empty office cubicle. They paused for a moment, exchanged relieved smiles, and lowered their guns as Ellis let out a low whistle.

"Shit," he laughed as he lowered his gun and leaned against the cubicle wall behind him. "I thought for a second we were in some real trouble." With another light chuckle, the boy shook his head and walked out of the cubicle formation where the walkways were on the edges of the room. "Guess we're all hearing—shit!"

Nick felt his heart skip a beat once Ellis's eyes turned to the left of the walkway and he screamed the curse. The boy staggered backwards and slipped on his own two feet, falling to the ground as he dropped his gun.

The three survivors sprung into action and whipped the corner with their guns at the ready, staring at what the boy had been so startled about-

-Nick had to stop his instincts from taking over, which was screaming at him to jump backwards and spray as many damn bullets into the thing as he possibly could. However, he forced his pointer finger off the trigger as he simply aimed the gun at what was in the corner of the room.

There, two terrified girls sat, their eyes wide as they stared down their barrels of death. One of them was a human girl, her dark hair fashioned in a ponytail with her bangs free to traverse her face. However, the one that had forcefully gotten their attention was the girl she sat beside—a witch.

All three flashlights snapped to the ground at the witch's feet as they realized they were blaring right in her eyes. The residual light dimmed the features of the two girls, but still allowed Nick to vaguely see them.

The two sides sat staring in disbelief at one another as Ellis stood up behind his three friends, peeking his head over to see what was going on. "Shoot," he groaned behind the three, who turned to see that he was clutching his left forearm. Blood dripped down an open wound that was covered as much as it could be by his right hand. "Cut myself on the stupid wall."

Allowing Rochelle to give him the medical attention that he needed, Coach and Nick turned back forward cautiously.

Tensions only increased as Nick looked down to the human girl's thigh to see that she was holstering a Colt 1911, its grip close to her hand that rested on the floor.

"Holy shit," Coach breathed quietly, clutching his shotgun. "Whoever you are, girl, you need to move. That thing you're sitting next to is a witch, and she'll tear you to hell."

"Wait!" the human girl desperately breathed, her voice cracking from fear. "Please, don't shoot… she's not like the others. She won't hurt you!"

That's when it hit him.

"Wait," Nick said as Coach began to open his mouth and form another warning. "Hold on."

His three teammates watched in breathless silence as he slowly raised the light to his flashlight up the witch's body, making sure that she wouldn't jump at him. However, every inch that she remained dormant pushed him to move the light closer to her face until it was shining on her eyes. Nick flinched as the girl made a light whimpering noise—the same sound that he had heard earlier—and lifted her massive claw.

"Shit!" Coach yelped as he cocked his shotgun.

"Wait!" Nick demanded as he realized that the infected girl was only shading her face with her hand, attempting to keep the harsh light out of her eyes. "Wait… she's not attacking."

As if the message had taken a while to get across, it took a few seconds before lowered his gun.

"No, she won't attack you," the human girl sitting beside the witch said as she ran a finger through the infected girl's white hair. "She's not like them."

Nick observed the face closely. He stared deep into the eyes of the witch, who was gazing right back at him as though she recognized him. Her features came slowly, but they struck a familiar chord in his mind. Her face wasn't disfigured like the other witches… her fearful look had Nick fishing around for the reason he had met the girl before on the tip of his tongue-

-"You," Nick breathed.

It was the same witch that Rochelle had shot at a couple days ago. It was the very same one that he had saved when he swatted the sniper rifle in the woman's hands, causing what would've been a fatal shot to bounce off of a wall and allow the infected girl to fully retreat. There was no doubt about it—her large nervous eyes gave him the same look that she had given him when the two had originally "met".

The human girl brought her eyebrows together in confusion as she switched her gaze back and forth between Nick and the witch. "You… know each other?"

The witch lifted her nose into the air and sniffed lightly; Nick assumed that she was checking his scent or something to make sure he was the same guy. "Yeah, you could say that," he answered with a nod. "'Shell here nearly shot her a few days back."

"Are you sure this is the same one, Nick?" Rochelle's nervous voice came.

"First thing I've been sure of in a while," Nick nodded slowly. "That witch is the same one I stopped _you_ from killing."

"Well I didn't know she was different!" she said loudly in her defense. "How was I supposed to know?"

"I told you," the conman groaned. "Forget it." He returned his attention to the human girl on the floor. "When did you meet her?"

"A couple days ago," she cooperated fully. "I found her with a few bullet wounds."

Nick turned around and tossed a dirty glare at Rochelle, who only shrugged in guilt before he turned back. It was only then that he noticed that the witch girl was still sniffing in the air. However, her eyes were now blinking forcefully in quick intervals. He narrowed his eyes as he asked, "Is she okay?"

The human girl turned her attention to the witch beside her, narrowing her own eyes in confusion at her friend's actions. "Are you alright? What's wrong?"

Nick winced as the witch's eyes snapped back up to the four survivors before her. However, instead of fear in her eyes, an expression that Nick didn't want to describe now resided there. It was an expression of ravenous hunger.

"Uh… kid," Nick breathed nervously as he returned his finger to the trigger of his gun. "Your 'friend' looks… hungry."

The witch's eyes deflected from Nick to Coach, who grunted in surprise as he clutched his shotgun. However, relief flooded his body when the eyes looked past the two men in the front and to Rochelle, who gasped in fear. The same uninterested response came when the witch finally switched her gaze to Ellis. And it was there they remained.

"Uh… hey there little lady," Ellis remarked nervously with a hard swallow. "You okay?"

"Hope?" the human girl spoke desperately as the witch slowly rose to her feet, her tongue dashing out across her lips. "Hope? What's wrong?"

Nick watched in terror as the witch seemed to begin to lose control of her mind. She blinked furiously as her tongue lashed in an out of her mouth, licking her lips in a hungry fashion. However, she seemed to be trying to turn her head to turn away, though instinct forced it back every single time.

"Hope?" the human girl's voice became fearful. "Hope what's wrong? What's wrong?"

It hit him.

Nick snapped worried eyes back to Ellis, whose arm was covered in a now-stained crude medical wrap that Rochelle had applied. The boy's eyes were wide as dinner plates as he stared back at the witch, her twitching and apparent self-conflict was becoming worse.

"It's his blood!" Nick stated quickly as he turned back to the human girl, whose eyes reflected the same terror that resided in Ellis's own.

The witch hadn't been sniffing at Nick… she'd been sniffing at Ellis's arm. The scent of blood was beginning to drive her insane—her infected instincts were beginning to overcome what logic and intelligence she had.

"That witch is still infected, different or not," Rochelle's shaking voice came from behind. Nick turned to find that she was in front of Ellis, her sniper rifle pointed at the infected girl as she pushed the boy back further and further down the hall. "She's hungry for blood—that's how they all are!"

"No!" the human girl cried desperately as she immediately stood in front of the whimpering, shuddering witch. She outstretched her arms in an attempt to cover as much of the infected girl as she could. "Wait! Don't shoot her! She wouldn't! There has to be something else!"

It seemed as though Nick was the only one paying attention to the witch, for he was the only one who flinched when the girl ceased her flinching and slowly turned her head, her crimson eyes locked on Ellis. "Uh… guys?"

"Move girl!" Rochelle demanded loudly as she cocked back the bolt on her sniper rifle. "She's a danger to everyone!"

"No!" the new girl yelled strongly as tears began to stream out of her eyes, streaking down her dirt-ridden face. "I won't let you hurt her!"

"Hey guys?" Nick called a little louder as the witch's jaws began to open, revealing her rows of razor-sharp teeth. He didn't doubt for a second that she could probably tear through steel with them.

"I understand that you think she's your friend," Rochelle continued to ignore him, "but she's a danger to us all! If you don't move I'll shoot through you!"

Nick's eyes widened with fear as the witch took a deep breath, ready to let out something he wasn't prepared for. "GUYS!"

It was too late.

The witch let out a mind-fucking screech as she shoved the protective girl out of the way with her massive claws. She fell to the ground with a grunt, but quickly lifted her head and screamed, "Hope! NO!"

Nick could only watch in paralyzed terror as the witch ignored her friend's desperate pleas and charged right by him, her razor-sharp claws cutting a small area on the flap of his suit jacket.

Everything in the world seemed to slow down.

Nick gazed in horror as Coach dove into a cubicle and out of the path of the witch, whose screeches were tainting his mind and terrorizing his soul. Rochelle's face distorted into a grimace of both alarm and determination as she hip-aimed the sniper as quickly as she could, and in an instant, pulled the trigger three times.

Time reverted to normal as the sniper rifle exploded loudly, sending three bullets flying into the witch. The creature shrieked as each round penetrated her skin, splashing crimson on the walls around her before she came to a staggering halt. Slowly, the witch's eyes came to a close as she fell to her knees, paused for a moment, then fell forward, her blood soaking through the office's carpeted floor. There, she lay on the ground, her whimpers becoming softer and softer until she was reduced to silence.

No one moved. There wasn't a sound as Nick slowly turned his head to the human girl on the floor, whose eyes were wide with shock as tears flowed freely like a broken dam from her eyes. Her entire body shook as she stared in pure denial at her fallen friend.

It was only then that she let out a loud shriek of pain and sorrow that could only rival that of the witch's herself.


	7. Chapter 7

_Well I guess this story isn't getting a lot of public attention ;P Hehe! But for those of you guys who constantly review, thank you SOOO much! It really makes me want to continue. I guess as long as there's one person who wants me to continue writing this, then It'd be selfish for me to just stop ^^ So, *ahem* here's another chapter! I hope you guys enjoy, and thanks so much for your support! _

Zoey stared wide-eyed, her mouth open as words seemed to void themselves from her mind. The hand she had outstretched in a pathetic attempt to save her friend began to shake violently, her head throbbing from the screech she had given a moment earlier.

It couldn't be… it couldn't be her friend.

The figure on the floor? The one that remained prostrate on the ground as the blood began to soak through her back from the bullet's exit wounds? That couldn't be Hope. Hope was alive and well, with eyes full of the desire to live against everything her infection had forced her to believe. The girl on the ground was a vicious, bloodthirsty witch that had just attempted to attack the survivor, who remained silent as he looked piteously to Zoey. That couldn't be Hope…

But it was.

Zoey felt her throat tighten painfully as the tears continued to fall like rain from the skies. Everything began to lose its form around the witch on the ground; lines began to blur and colors began to meld together.

Zoey slowly formed her mouth to choke out the only words she could process.

"No…"

No more than an hour ago, she had promised Hope that she would keep her safe. She had promised the girl that nothing would hurt her, and she would make sure of that. But now… now her friend was laying face-down in a puddle of her own blood from an attack that Zoey could've prevented.

She could've shot the four survivors right there.

"N-… no," the urge to speak became stronger.

Zoey could've taken out her Colt and shot all of them when they turned the corner. She should've known that they wouldn't understand Hope… there was no one that could understand the infected girl like her. But she didn't see that… she tried to make them understand. She tried to convince them that Hope was different. She tried to show them that the girl was nothing in comparison to the other witches or even infected out there.

It was her fault that Hope was dead.

"No," she repeated louder.

Zoey could still redeem her failure. She could still avenge the death of her fallen friend… she could still kill the four survivors that stood before her, their eyes cast upon her pathetic form. It was because of them Hope was gone now.

Her teary focus slowly switched to the girl at the other end of the hall, the sniper rifle shaking visibly in her nervous hands. She stared back at Zoey with wide eyes, her mouth agape stupidly.

"Y-… you," Zoey growled through her cracking voice.

The woman turned behind her to exchange confused glances with the boy with the cap, his deep eyes full of pity for Zoey. But she didn't want his pity… she wanted his life.

The familiar weight of the Colt on her thigh holster slowly returned to her senses. Its strong mass sang revenge to her ears, calling her name… telling her to get the vengeance she so rightfully deserved.

The death she so rightfully deserved.

She knew she couldn't kill four armed survivors… it was impossible. But she could kill two… the two that stood the closest to each other. The two that had caused the death of her friend… the death of her Hope.

"You… killed her," Zoey hissed.

All the sorrow in her body… all the tears in her eyes… she felt them transform into all the hatred in the world. Her vision turned red as she glared at the pair at the end of the hallway. What was once weakness was replaced by strength that flowed deep inside her hot blood.

"Honey," the woman's taunting voice came, "I had to… she was dangerous."

How dare she speak?"

How dare she have the audacity to open her mouth when Zoey's friend had no such privilege?

"You killed her," Zoey repeated, the words bringing more and more rage to her sense. "YOU KILLED HER!"

Zoey snapped her right hand down to her thigh holster and tore out her Colt from its grasp. In the same motion she stood and snapped the barrel of the gun upwards, locking the sights onto the head of the now-terrified African American woman. Zoey yanked the hammer back with her thumb, the comforting click vibrating through her entire body.

This was justice.

With all the strength she had, Zoey pulled the trigger-

-something smashed into the bottom of her arm, causing the pistol to jerk high before discharging the round that would've ended the miserable woman's life. Zoey looked down at her arm to find that the suited man had his fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist, keeping the gun pointed towards the ceiling where it would bring no justice.

"Let me go!" Zoey screamed as she discharged another round into the ceiling, hoping against all odds that the bullet would bounce off something and come down to murder the woman that stood terrified and frozen. "LET ME GO!"

However, the man refused to comply. With a grunt of effort, he pushed her wrist backwards, smashing it painfully against the wall behind her. Zoey let out a yelp of surprise as her knuckles rapped hard against the spackling, tearing through her skin and causing warm blood to trickle down her hand as the pistol fell lifelessly to the ground.

"Stop!" the man's voice pierced all her senses as he grabbed her other wrist with his open hand and pressed it to the wall as well. Before she had a chance to react, Zoey found herself staring deep into the bright blue eyes of her captor. "Killing her won't bring your friend back!"

"Let me go!" Zoey screeched again as she fought against his powerful grip. However, when her strength proved futile against his, she resorted to lower tactics and kicked up as hard as she could, her foot meeting painfully with his crotch.

The man's breath blew out of his lungs as his knees buckled, his grip weakening just enough for Zoey to jerk forward off the wall and throw him to the side. She looked back down to the ground where her pistol lie, swooped down to pick it up, and turned to charge back at the woman-

-a barrel pointed straight at her face.

Zoey felt her blood run cold as she found herself staring down the nozzle of a shotgun only an inch from her face, practically gazing at the bullet that was about to end her life. That was it… she'd failed.

"No… Coach," the suited man groaned weakly from the ground where he squirmed slightly in the fetal position. "Don't…"

"Go ahead," Zoey growled through clenched teeth, the tears and pain renewed once she saw her fallen friend behind the larger man. "Do it."

"Don't think I'm above killing a woman," the man addressed as Coach threatened in a low, heavy voice. "I'll do it."

"DO IT!" she screamed as she threw her pistol to the ground, hearing it slap loudly against the carpeted floor. There was no reason left to live… she'd failed everything. She'd failed her friends by running away from the tank, and who knew where they were now. She'd failed herself because she couldn't keep her best friend safe. She'd failed Hope… because she was dead. "KILL ME!"

"Coach!" the man on the ground called louder. "Stop!"

"I'll blow your pretty little head off your neck!" Coach finally lost his cool as he shoved the shotgun barrel closer to her head, placing his finger on the trigger. "You'll be dead before you hit the ground!"

"DO IT!" Zoey repeated as she took a step forward, hoping that he would grow nervous and twitch the trigger. However, the man only pursed his lips as he fished around in his soul for the strength to end her life. "Well? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?"

However, after a moment's pause, Coach slowly lowered the shotgun from Zoey's face as his own expression of hatred weakened. His lax expression only drove her to madness. "NO!" she screamed through tear-streaked eyes as she grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and tried to pull it back to her face. Her attempts were futile—he was much stronger than the other man.

Instead, Coach jerked the gun backwards, causing Zoey to yelp as she was pulled forward and fell to the ground on her stomach. But she made no motion to get up. All the strength… all the rage… the temporary chance to kill them… it was all gone. All that replaced it was the creeping feeling of loneliness that she had almost completely let go of.

"We all lost something close to us in the infection," his voice came from above her. She made no effort to look. "For me to kill you because you're feeling pain… that's something that not even I can do."

"No… please…" Zoey choked out through her weak, broken sobs. "Please just kill me… Please."

"She ain't dead."

Those words… they came out in a heavy southern accent. It was the voice of the retarded one… the one that the woman had killed Hope to protect.

Zoey lifted her head to see that the boy was crouched down beside Hope's inanimate body, his shaking hand running nervously over her pale back.

"DON'T TOUCH HER!" Zoey shrieked loudly. "DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING TOUCH HER!"

"Didn't you hear him?" the suited man's familiar voice came from behind her. It sounded like he was finally recovering. "Ellis said your friend's not dead."

Not dead?

Zoey slowly turned her had to face the suited man as if he had just told her that she had been adopted. He stood above her, his eyes looking firmly down upon her own as he held out his hand. His face was straight and strong… nothing like the others.

"You…" Zoey stuttered as she turned her head back to the boy, who was still scanning over Hope's inanimate body. "She's not…"

"No," he slurred out as he slipped a health kit off of his back, one that was similar to the same kind she wore. "She ain't dead… not yet, I mean. If we don't help her out, she will be though."

"Are you insane?" the woman with the sniper rifle barked. "That thing was just about to kill you, and now you want to help it? And that girl on the floor was just about to shoot me down!"

"You act pretty funny when you get hungry too, Ro," Ellis returned as he blew off her statement. "And you can't blame her for it. She was just tryin' to defend her friend."

Zoey had never felt such a mix of emotions and confusion in her life. The four survivors that she had been so hell bent on murdering earlier… they were now trying to help her. They were trying to help Hope…

"Now c'mon," the suited, last unnamed man said, moving Zoey's attention once again to his outstretched hand. "Let's get you back up."

Zoey eyed the hand nervously before switching back to the man's eyes of blue. She searched for some sign of trickery… some form of deception or anything that would give away negative intent. However, when she found none, she reached a slow, shaking hand towards his.

The man pushed his hand further to close the rest of the way and grabbed onto hers. His fingers linked around her own, and in a second, Zoey felt his strength pulling her to her feet. However, instead of giving him thanks, she only turned and sprinted to the side of the man named Ellis, who was pulling out a roll of medical tape from the pack. She crouched down beside him and remained as close to Hope as possible… she didn't want to lose her… not again.

"I…" Zoey finally stuttered weakly as he unrolled the tape. "Do you… you can use mine."

"It's okay, we got plenty of this stuff," he said before turning his head to face Zoey.

However, once he did, his smile dropped and his eyes widened for only a split second before he snapped his back forward to his work. It could've been the light, but Zoey could've sworn that he turned a bright shade of red. "Well, looks like the bullets went all the way through," he deducted without taking his eyes off of his work. "Makes it a little easier I guess. She's a fighter, I'll tell you that."

"You're crazy Ellis," the woman insulted once again. "You are crazy. She'll just get up and attack you again. You really are dumb as you look."

"You know what Ro?" the boy stopped as he turned his head to her. "She's a survivor, just like us," he snapped as he gestured to Zoey. "And if she's been traveling around with this witch for a couple days and it ain't done nothin' to hurt her. If you ask me, that makes her a survivor too."

"Ro", as he called her, dropped her jaw, baffled that the boy would stand up to her like that. However, after a few moments, she overcame her shock and regained her angry composure as she crossed her arms and turned her head away. "If she gets up and tries to kill you, don't expect me to save you."

"Can it, Rochelle," the suited man growled as he walked over beside Zoey and crouched down, eyeing Hope's wounds. "She's strong if she can live through something like that."

"She…" Zoey muttered, unsure of what to say to the man that she had hurt only a moment ago. "She's always been strong."

"Hey, uh… what's your name?" Ellis broke the conversation. Zoey turned to the boy to find that he was no longer looking at Hope, but was now staring down at her feet as if embarrassed to look her in the eye.

"Zoey," she replied slowly, confused from his awkward habit.

"Yeah, Zoey," the boy parroted, "I ain't never touched a girl like this before… 'specially not an infected girl, or anything like that. Did you want to do it? All you gotta do is just wrap her wound up real tight-like, but none too tight, or that'll just be uncomfortable. She's unconscious, so don't worry 'bout hurting her too much. I don't think she feels a thing."

"Oh… yeah," Zoey answered as she reached out and grabbed the medical tape Ellis was holding nervously. He jerked his hand back as if afraid she would bite him, then quickly stood up and moved out of the way, allowing her to scoot closer. "Alright, Hope," she breathed. "You hear that? You'll be fine… you're strong. Just stay with me…" A tear spilled down her cheek. "Please stay with me."

In silence, Zoey began to wrap up the girl's wounds. Two of the three bullets had gone straight through her abdomen, and one had found its way in her left thigh. She bound the cloth tape around Hope's stomach and leg, the hardest part being having to lift her body slightly in order to get the wrap underneath her. However, when she had to lift her a third time, the suited man reached out and helped the witch up gently for her. After a smile and small nod of thanks, Zoey returned to her work.

The final wrap was applied around her thigh. Zoey sighed as she cut off the residual tape and turned to Ellis, who nervously took it from her hands after much fishing around beside him—he still refused to look at her.

"Looks good," the suit sighed. "You did a good job."

"Thanks," she replied awkwardly, unsure of what to say. "Thanks for the wrap."

"Don't mention it," Ellis returned quickly. "It's my—I mean our pleasure."

"She's going to be out for a little while," the suited man pointed out. "Let's move her into a room or something where it's a little safer."

Zoey nodded to him, then returned her attention to Hope. Carefully, she turned the girl over onto her back. The human girl had to resist crying again as she saw her friend's closed eyes, her jaw limp and barely open beneath her pale lips. Slowly, Zoey slipped her arms underneath Hope's neck and knees, cradling her like a child as she lifted the seemingly weightless girl into the air. She then turned to the suit, who gave a quick nod and led her to a random room that he made sure to clear with his gun drawn before gesturing her to follow him in. Zoey obeyed and entered the room after him, his weak flashlight providing just enough illumination for her to see that it was an office storage room, prominent with boxes of staples and stacks of white paper.

"Lay her down here," the man said as he gestured towards the center of the room where he had set up a couple of folded up dust cloths to use as a pillow. Zoey approached the makeshift bed and gently laid Hope down on it, making sure to move the towels underneath her head before she let the girl completely go.

"Thank you," Zoey breathed awkwardly, unsure of how to take the sudden hospitality after such a fight.

"Yeah," he answered with a nod. "Do you have any other people in your group or are you and her it?"

"I…" Zoey drooled out as she remembered her three other friends. "They're out there. They told me to run when things got rough… but they said they'd come back and get me when it was safe."

The suited man turned to Ellis, who had followed Zoey into the room, and they exchanged reluctant glances as if they'd heard _that_ story before.

"Look, we'll stay with you tonight, isn't that right, Nick?" Ellis spoke.

Nick. So that was his name.

"That's the plan," the man responded.

"What?"

All three in the room wheeled around to the entrance to find that Rochelle was standing with her sniper slung, her eyes widened as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard. "Are you serious?" she asked in a tone that began to dig at Zoey's nerves. "You want to stay here for tonight? Our goal is just at the top of this building!"

"I don't think anyone has the strength to carry Zoey's friend up that many flights of stairs," Nick grumbled. "Unless that's you hinting at volunteering."

"I wouldn't touch that damn witch if it was the last thing alive!" Rochelle spat, plucking a nerve in Zoey's mind. "And that's not what I meant. I meant that we're not waiting here, we're going now. She can fend for herself."

"Her friends are gone, Ro," Ellis brought up quietly as if it was a sensitive topic. "We gotta stay and help her. It's the least we can do."

"Least we can do?" the woman finally burst, her fists locked in balls down by her sides. "The bitch tried to kill me and the witch tried to kill you, and now you're making it sound like _we_ owe them something!"

"They're survivors, just like us," Ellis pursued his case. "We have to stay and help them."

"They're not survivors!" Rochelle continued. "One of them tried to kill me and the other's a witch! What part of that says survivors to you?"

"Baby girl," Coach's footsteps approached the front door. "Come on out and let's talk, girl."

The woman turned her head outside the door for a moment, paused, then turned back to Zoey and gave her a heavy glare before storming out of the room.

"Don't you mind Ro," Ellis finally said. "She's just a little mad is all. She's a nice person, she really is."

Zoey tried to force herself to agree, but couldn't make herself form the words of acknowledgement. Defeated, she only closed her mouth and nodded.

"Alright, so it's settled," Nick groaned as he stood up, dusting off his white suit. "Ellis, after Coach gets Rochelle, you and him are going on a scavenger run to pick up any food you can find."

"Why me?" Ellis moaned as he rolled his eyes. "Why can't I stay here with Zoey?" He then quickly added, "I mean… 'cuz… you know. With the witch and all, I want to make sure she's familiar with me."

Zoey watched as Nick rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Alright, whatever, Romeo. Have it your way."

He then left the room without another word.

* * *

Zoey sat quietly in the middle of the room next to the friend that she no longer felt she deserved. The hours that passed that Hope remained unconscious felt like days, and each second weighed down heavier on her heart.

The pale, tiny girl lay just as she had been placed, her body straight as a pencil with her head propped up by the pillow of towels. Zoey had caught herself staring into the witch's closed eyes, hoping to see some sign of an awakening. However, there was nothing; the only motion in the room was Zoey's light shaking. Ellis had temporarily retreated to the bathroom, though he had accompanied her in silence while Nick and Coach had left to go scout for food. Though the larger man had managed to convince Rochelle that they should stay and offer their assistance, the girl still wasn't happy about it, and had made the terms that she got her own room separate from Hope. Zoey didn't mind—she didn't want to see the woman's face anyways.

What had happened?

The question finally and abruptly hit Zoey's mind as she sighed and shook her head. She reached out with a trembling hand a stroked Hope's hair affectionately, hoping the girl would awaken and lock eyes with her, just like she did before. Little disappointment came when no such movement occurred.

Zoey thought about Bill, Francis, and Louis. Though she was worried from their unknown whereabouts, she knew that they were okay. They always were—those three men were the strongest she'd ever had the pleasure of meeting. With Bill's leadership abilities, Francis's fearlessness, and Louis's intelligence, Zoey didn't doubt once that they were still out there, waiting to come get her for one reason or another. However, she did wonder where they were, and if they were still under pressure from the zombies. There was no way the tank could've still been out there, or the four new survivors that she had just recently met wouldn't have been able to make their way into the building and up the stairs. Whatever epic battle Zoey had left earlier must have ended long ago.

The deeper she thought about it, the less she could pinpoint the reason she was so… worried. She knew she was safe; there were four survivors out there helping her. And if that wasn't enough, she still had her hunting rifle and Colt, which would come in perfect handy in defending a position as easy as the one she was in currently. There wasn't an infected creature that would make it past the doors. She knew the others were safe, wherever they were. And as of an hour or so ago, she knew that Hope would make it through once Ellis had confirmed that she would be alright.

So what bugged her?

Zoey breathed out a breath of mock laughter as she shook her head and closed her eyes. That was a stupid question to ask, and she knew it.

What had provoked Hope into attacking? What had changed the little, scared girl that Zoey knew her into a monster that was so ready to kill? Was the infection finally beginning to take over the rest of her intelligence and control? What if that was how it was? What if all the witches started out with some remnants of their human traits, then slowly lost them as time went on?

Zoey opened her eyes as she looked down at Hope's body. If that was the case, was she really safe sitting there next to her? If the witch really had completely turned violent, then what would happen when she woke up and saw a survivor there? Would she attack like any other witch would?

No.

Zoey shook the thought out of her head; there had to be another explanation. She refused to believe that Hope was now just another witch… she couldn't be. She was her best friend.

Zoey scanned her mind as thoroughly as she could, searching for a moment in the past where Hope had done something that she just couldn't explain.

Hunger.

Zoey switched her thoughtful gaze from her own lap back to Hope. The infected were always hungry… for food, or at least some form of food. Why was the girl never really all too hungry? Why didn't her appetite bother her like all the other infected, who constantly needed to feast on human flesh in order to stay alive?

The memory of the first burger the witch had eaten crept into Zoey's mind. It wasn't that she wasn't hungry… once she got a hold of Louis's burger, the thing was gone within seconds. No one without an appetite could've done that. In fact, from how she devoured that thing, Zoey could've even sworn that she was… starving.

But then why didn't she take both Francis's and Louis's burger? Was it really the fact that Francis scared her a little more?

Louis's voice infiltrated her ears as the memory replayed inside her mind. _"Hey, it's okay, you want mine? I'm done with it anyways, it doesn't taste that great and the microwave did a crappy job cooking it."_

Zoey narrowed her eyes in concentration as the last section of the sentence repeated in her mind.

"_The microwave did a crappy job cooking it."_

When Francis had cooked his burger, he had followed Bill's example, just like Zoey had, and nuked it for a solid two minutes with the microwave on high power. However, when Louis cooked his, half the microwave ceased to work, but he put it in for the same recommended two minutes. His burger was freakishly raw… Francis's was well done. And when Hope had sniffed Francis's burger, she didn't turn away in shyness… she turned away in distaste. The smell of Louis's bloody burger must've been what she had smelled in the first place.

She wanted raw meat.

The memory of the tank attacking them was next in line to infiltrate Zoey's mind. She remembered how Hope had stared at Bill's cut and bleeding body after the massive creature had thrown the rock. The look in her eyes that Zoey couldn't explain… the one she didn't realize until now… it wasn't fear for Bill's life; it was fear for her own control.

Hope's face the moment before she took off into the building paused in Zoey's head. She observed it, and only then did she truly understand the expression. The witch's eyes were open wide in fear, her gaze switching all around Bill's cuts. However, it was only after she had scanned his entire body that she dropped her terrified stare to the ground, then looked back up to Bill's own face nervously a split second before taking off.

The witch hadn't run because she was afraid of the tank… she ran because she was hungry, she smelt flesh and blood, but saw that it belonged to the body of a friend. In an attempt to keep the man safe, she had run. She ran because she needed to protect him.

Zoey's eyes began to widen as the pieces were starting to come together.

It was what provoked her into attacking Ellis. Ellis's arm was bleeding… she smelled the fresh blood, but didn't recognize the face as a friend. Though she tried to hold herself back, there wasn't any real initiative to. The man wasn't her friend… he was a stranger, and she was starving. Impulse had become stronger than willpower, and in return, Hope attacked.

Her intelligence was never gone… only compromised by a stronger temptation with less motive to hold the attack.

The girl… Hope… she may have been smarter than the other witches, and she may have been gentler, but she was still a witch. She was still infected, and her instincts now told her to feast on whatever source of flesh and blood was available at the moment.

It was a war within herself whenever she saw someone bleed.

"Hey there you."

Zoey lifted her attention from Hope to turn towards the door. There, entering in his normal, casual fashion, was Ellis. He looked her in the eye for a moment before moving to sit down next to her, then switching his own gaze to the witch.

"_So_," he began pointlessly. After spending the last few hours together, Ellis had become much more comfortable around her… it was a nice change from the awkward glances she would catch him in the middle of. "Nick and Coach should be back anytime soon now. I mean, if you're hungry, that's a good thing."

Zoey couldn't help but let the boy's nervous speaking bring a faint smile to her lips. "Yeah, I'm kind of hungry," she sighed.

Hungry.

The human girl's eyes switched to Ellis's casted arm. He must have noticed her sudden change in focus, for he, himself, looked down at the bloody wraps. "Yeah, it ain't too bad," he shrugged it off. "Just cut my arm on the side of the cubicle thing, that's all."

"I…" Zoey wasn't sure how to break the ice to the discussion. "It's not that. Hope… she smelled your blood and that's why she attacked you. I'm…" she swallowed nervously. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, it ain't a big deal," the boy blew off with a slight wave of his hand. "I know I can be a little clumsy sometimes. Like this one time, me and my buddy Keith found this bottle of pepper spray, and-"

"Save it, Ellis."

The two in the room turned to find that Nick was standing in the doorway, his hands busy with plastic bags as he entered. He crouched down and sat on the opposite side of Hope from Zoey, his eyes scanning over her closed eyes to check if she was awake or still out cold.

"He'll slip in as many stories as he can if you let him," the suited man gave her a head's up before grinning at the flushed Ellis. "You don't have to listen to him—we really don't." Zoey shrugged.

"Maybe you should listen sometimes," the boy said in his defense. "You might learn a lesson or two." He then quickly changed the subject before Nick had the time to retort. "So where'd Coach go?"

"Where else?" Nick sighed as he began to pull out the contents of the plastic bags. Zoey watched with eyes full of hunger as he revealed a few cans of refried beans, a roll of what could've been a flattened loaf of bread or the longest pancake she'd ever seen, a few bottles of water and a couple cans of soda, and much to her surprise, a bottle of liquor.

"Damn, Nick," Ellis's eyes grew with his stomach as the man tossed the bags to the side. "You got us a feast."

"Got lucky," the man replied simply. "Alright, guys. Dig in—this is dinner." He then lifted his eyes to Zoey before adding, "I'm not sure what kind of food you're used to. We aren't used to luxury here, ourselves."

Zoey felt her face turn red from embarrassment. "No, it's fine. I'm lucky if we find anything for the night."

"Well then," Nick nodded as he pushed a can of beans towards her. "Eat up. Take your pick on your drink."

Zoey eyed the can of cola nervously before offering, "You guys go ahead and choose first… giving me food is already more than fair for letting me have my first pick."

"Well, from the way you're looking at the soda," Ellis read her eyes easily, "I'm gonna say that you want that one."

"Just take it, kid," Nick said as he slid the can across the carpeted floor with an ease that Zoey found to look almost practiced. "Even if Ellis wants the last can, I'm not touching that crap." He then reached his arm beside him and grabbed the clear, tan-liquid filled bottle before uncapping it and stating proudly, "I got all I need in a drink right here." Zoey watched in fascination as Nick brought the liquor to his lips and tilted his head far back, taking five deep gulps before coming back to the world and lowering the drink. He made a horrible grimace before lifting the bottle to his eyes and groaning, "Shit, no wonder not even thieves would take this crap. It's horrible." However, he sighed and shrugged as he shook his head. "Oh well. A drink's a drink."

A tiny, almost inaudible whimper came from the center of the room.

Zoey snapped her head down to Hope to find that the girl's face was slowly twisting into a grimace of her own. However, in only a second, her pale eyes opened up to reveal the two crimson drops that Zoey had missed so much. Though they were weak and barely shone with the same curiosity and life that resided in them before, they were comforting.

"H-…" Zoey managed to stutter out through tears of joy as a large smile spread across her lips. She wanted to drop down and give the girl one of the warmest embraces she had ever had. However, due to the injuries that the girl had sustained, Zoey would have to hold her desires back. "Hope."

However, the girl made no motion to return the smile. Instead, Hope only slowly turned her eyes away before they began to tear up themselves.

"Hope?" Zoey asked, her own triumphant grin dropping. "What's wrong?"

The witch only slowly shook her head before switching her gaze to Ellis's wounded arm. The boy flinched backwards minutely, but immediately understood once the girl's eyes went to his own; they displayed a stare full of regret for the insatiable hunger that led to what she must've viewed as her own shameful actions.

"Don't you be sad now," Ellis shook his head as he put on a comforting grin of his own. "It's okay, I ain't gonna hurt you. You're a good kid—you are."

However, Zoey felt her heart fall into her stomach as the witch lowered her eyes before closing them once again. Her breathing continued, but it was slow and labored—she must've been hurting bad.

"Hope, I understand now," Zoey tried. "I know why you attacked… I know why you ran. I know now… and it's okay. You're still my best friend… and I hope…" She felt her throat clog up as she sniffled. "I hope that you can forgive me… for breaking my promise."

The witch's eyes snapped open as she looked back to Zoey, who only covered her face as she tried to hold back tears of her own. In a moment, she felt the cold, shaking touch of the witch's hands on her leg, the weak girl reaching out for whatever she could touch in an attempt to console the same way Zoey had comforted her. However, the human girl refused to look her in the eyes. She had never felt so ashamed of herself in the past.

"I promised you I wouldn't let anything hurt you," Zoey's voice came forcefully as she pushed her tears down from surfacing. "But only an hour later I… I let you down."

Silence passed as the witch tried to get Zoey to lower her hands. However, when the girl refused to budge, Hope turned to Ellis and gave him a desperate expression. The boy nodded at her unspoken request.

"Hey," he said as gently as he could as he tapped the girl on the shoulder. "I think she wants you to move your hands."

With a short sniffle, Zoey removed her hands from her face and slowly looked down at Hope. The witch stared back at her, and in that instant, an entire conversation between the two happened in less than a split second, and a mutual understanding was made.

Slowly, Zoey allowed a smile to pass over her lips, and though Hope's energy was still drained, she managed to display a weak, tiny grin. The human girl let out a breath of laughter as relief flooded her entire body. She leaned down and placed a hand on Hope's cheek, to which the infected girl reached a trembling hand to hold it there.

"I'm glad to have you back, girl," Zoey whispered as she leaned her head forward and gave her a kiss on her cold forehead. Hope let out a small sigh of joy as she wrapped her pale arms around the human girl's slim figure, holding her as if afraid she would leave. "I couldn't live without you."


	8. Chapter 8

_I'm sorry it took so long to put up this new chapter! I really feel like I let a lot of people down... Please forgive me! There was a little while where I kind of gave up on writing... I was talking to a reviewer on this site and his points were strong and discouraged me from continuing this story. But I thank the people that helped me get through that (You know who you are! ^^) And here's another post! I promise the chapters will come as quickly as the last time!_

* * *

The sound of light knocking on the door jarred Zoey awake from her uneasy sleep. Her eyes popped open as she rocked forward from her leaning position against the wall and immediately scanned her surrounding to make sure everything was still in proper order.

Whatever sound had woken her had also gotten to Hope; the witch, who remained lying on the floor, was looking right back at the survivor with her crimson eyes. However, Nick and Ellis, the other two that had kept them company in the same room last night, were still fast asleep, sprawled out in various areas along the walls.

The knock came again. Zoey's eyes snapped to the door before she took a deep breath and stood up—there were no nerves. It was a steady, soft knock; one much too controlled to be that of an infected. It had to be one of the other two in the group: Coach or Rochelle.

Zoey tiptoed her way to the door, careful not to wake anyone else up, and opened it up to the darkness out in the main room. To little surprise, the large figure of Coach occupied the frame before her.

"Hey, Zoey," the man greeted in a whisper.

"Yeah?" she asked, trying to sound as awake as possible.

"We got visitors here for you."

Zoey put on a confused grimace as she tried to comprehend what that meant. However, before she could finish her thoughts, the large man stepped off to the side and allowed the silhouette of three others to take his place. She rubbed her eyes with the backs of her palms to clear up the figures and found their defining features—one with a beret, another with his sleeves torn off, and the last with his business-like attire-

-"Guys!" Zoey gasped, completely forgetting that everyone else was asleep behind her. A clash of joy and relief swept her entire body as she jumped forward and embraced the closest one.

Comfort settled in her body as the man's strong arms wrapped her body, holding her tightly and releasing all the fear that she had about losing them in the first place. "Hey there, kid," the rough yet warm voice of the Vietnam veteran returned. "Looks like you made yourself some new friends."

Zoey released the embrace, but the smile never ended as she locked eyes in the dark room with her two other allies—Francis, who stood beside Bill, and Louis, who stood behind and between the two.

"Yeah," Francis's gruff voice came loudly. "Well I'll bet they're still nowhere as good as us."

"I'm right here, tough guy," Coach's offended voice muttered from out of sight of the door.

"We're glad you're safe, Zoey," Louis quickly changed the topic once Francis took a deep breath to begin his retort.

"Likewise," she put it as modestly as possible. "I was beginning to think you guys weren't going to make it back."

"It'll take more than a couple of zombies to do us in," Francis remarked proudly.

"Your other friends, I assume?"

Zoey turned to look behind her where the voice had come from. There, inside, Nick was eyeing the other survivors as if judging their very appearance from their presence at the door. Ellis, however, was leaning up against the back wall, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes shifty as if he admitted some sort of defeat.

"Yeah, these are the guys I was telling you about," Zoey declared as she gestured towards them. "That's Bill, Francis, and Louis."

"Nice to meet you," Louis greeted cheerfully as swam between the other two and reached a hand forward for a shake. However, Nick only looked down at the gesture before returning his attention to Louis's eyes.

"Pleasure," his careless rely came. "Nick."

Louis put on a confused face. "No, my name's Louis."

"What he meant to say," Ellis's southern drawl finally joined the conversation. Zoey turned around to see that he was cautiously approaching the other survivors as if afraid they would bite him. "Is that his name is Nick."

"Ah," Louis answered with a grimace.

"Are you are…?" Bill was the next to question.

"Ellis," the boy returned simply. "Nice to meet ya'll."

"So… Ellis, Nick, and we already met Rochelle and Coach," Louis began taking count. "Are there any more survivors here?"

"Nope," Nick answered as he walked back into the room, Ellis already returning to his back wall. Zoey turned to her three friends and gestured them in with a smile, moving out of the way and allowing them through the doorframe-

-"Hope?" Francis noticed once he set foot in the room. His voice came in a confused burst that Zoey could've sworn cracked. "Is that Hope? What happened?" He then cleared his throat before forcing his voice down to its normal levels and recovering, "Not… that I care, I was just wondering."

"There was a little… misunderstanding when we all first met," Zoey tried to explain as sensitively as possible. "But it's okay… she's recovering now."

Zoey turned her attention back down to the pale witch, whose eyes switched between the familiar faces of the survivors. Though she was obviously still weak and hazy from loss of blood, Hope's eyes twinkled with the same joy that had earned her name.

"Shit, girl," Bill was the first to interact as he knelt down beside the infected girl. Zoey followed, sitting on her ankles on the opposite side. She watched as the vet ran his eyes along the girl's wounds and the crude wrapping job. "You're one hell of a soldier."

A grin spread across Zoey's face as Hope's face turned a light shade of red. "It's a good thing," she laughed as she reached out her hand and placed it on top of the witch's. The infected girl immediately transferred her attention to her occupied claw, then sighed in satisfaction as she closed her eyes.

"Funny thing we found you guys here," Louis said as he sat against the wall opposite from Nick and cornered with Ellis's. "We saw Zoey and Hope take off into this building and found out afterwards that there's a helicopter pad on top. How long have you guys been out here for?"

"At least a week now," Nick sighed as he reached for the bottle of cheap alcohol that he kept by his side at all times. He uncapped it, took a deep drink, and grimaced as he set it down and coughed from the raw flavor. He looked down at the bottle with disgust. "Shit doesn't get any better."

"So how did you guys take care of the tank anyways?" Zoey finally asked, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer.

Bill opened his mouth to begin to tell the story but was quickly interrupted by Francis, who seemed more eager than ever before to explain exactly what had happened… at least, from his side. "Well, Grandpa Bill here and Louis ran out of ammo in their clip and didn't have the time to reload," he shrugged as if he'd done the greatest thing in the world. "So I shot it, got its attention, and once it started charging me, I waited for the perfect moment and put a full shotgun shell in its head." Francis let out a hearty "Ha" before continuing. "Its little head exploded like a melon."

"Give me a break, Francis," Bill groaned as he shook his head. "The only reason it took you so long to shoot it was because you were shitting your pants as it ran at you."

Louis gave a small laugh before stating, "The rest from when you finally woke up was luck."

"Hey, no it wasn't," the biker shot, his pride on the line. "I just… meant for it to think that I was helpless."

"Sure you did, tough guy," Louis blew off. "Sure you did."

"Well, now we got eight guns instead of four," Nick changed the topic, his mind obviously on the idea of getting out of the hellhole they were in. "Moving to the top should be easier."

"So we're teaming up now?" Francis asked as he slipped the automatic shotgun off his back and sat down against the wall next to Louis.

"Unless you guys want to go your separate ways and find your own ride," Nick said as he capped his choice beverage. "But we found this helicopter first. If you want to go your own way, you're out of luck here."

"Oh yeah?" Francis stood back up just as quickly as he had sat down. Zoey shook her head and sighed as the biker put on his tough face and glared straight down at Nick, who couldn't seem to care any less. "I don't think I'll have a problem taking you on, suit. You want to fight over that ride?"

"Get your panties out of a twist, Francis," Bill groaned. "If the helicopter's big enough then I don't see a problem with sharing a ride. For Christ's sake we've all been in this Godforsaken city for too damn long. I'm not going to let your hot head ruin that chance for us to get out of here."

Francis looked to Bill, then back to Nick before giving him a warning snort and sitting back down. However, the biker's hand immediately moved to his automatic shotgun that was leaned against the wall beside him as if ready for anything.

"We're going to have to wait for tomorrow if we want to do anything," Ellis finally spoke up. "With Hope in the condition she's in, we ain't moving nowhere until tomorrow."

"Morning rolls around and we're on our feet," Louis summarized for himself with a small nod of his head. "Sounds like a plan to me."


	9. Chapter 9

_As an apology to hopefully try and make up for my horrible lapse in post times between 7 and 8, I wanted to post this next one! Thanks for all your guys's support along the road, and never feel afraid to tell me what needs to be worked on or if I should just stop! ^^ Again, thank you all so much and I hope I hear from you in your reviews! _

_P.S.: A little disclaimer about this chapter, it's an emotional rollercoaster and it's pretty long! But now that the end is near, tension is high in the group... hopefully I didn't give off the feel that this was all written without purpose! ^^ Enjoy!_

* * *

Zoey remained standing on her side of the room, waiting patiently for the others to ready up themselves. Guns were slung, magazines were accounted for and inspected, and the oh-too-familiar sound of a readying pistol echoed endlessly through the small cube of an office storage space.

The plan was simple enough—take the now strengthened 9-man team to the top of the building where a helipad, and hopefully a radio, was. From there they'd fly out of the infected hellhole that they had become too accustomed to. And from _there_…

Zoey grimaced as she realized that she wasn't sure what she would do after that. There were too many unknown variables… how far had the infection spread? Did she still have a home waiting for her or had the zombies already taken that too? And even if she did have a home and parents to go back to, what would the rest of the world think of Hope?

Hope…

The human girl's deep eyes focused their attention beside her, where the witch that she had deemed as her best friend stood quietly, observing as everyone else finished up their readying process. Though her body was casted up again from the bullet wounds she had suffered earlier, she was standing at her full height, only slightly leaning against the wall behind her in a parroted fashion as Zoey.

She really was a soldier.

Zoey couldn't help but allow a smile to tug at her lips as she observed the witch's curious expression. There was never a doubt that Hope was a soldier—it wasn't the first time she'd heard it. However, seeing the girl at practically a full recovery after taking such a blow was just a way of reaffirming it one hundred and ten percent.

"Alright," Bill's gruff voice finally came as the last pistol was buckled into its holster. Even after the merging of the two teams, he had still somehow managed to keep his unofficial leadership position. "All you kids ready to go?"

Nods were mutually exchanged throughout the room, though they were tense and nervous. Though their mission only entitled them to be walking up few flights of stairs, it was the feeling of uncertainty of what waited for them at the top that brought about the butterflies.

"Since the stairwell is narrow and it'll be impossible to move in a fully covered formation," the vet continued, his army training taking effect, "We'll put the two heaviest weapons in the front. Francis, that's you and Coach."

Francis let out a prideful "humph" as he carelessly slung his automatic shotgun over his shoulder, holding it in one hand as he turned to Coach with a look of pride. He then eyed the man's smaller chrome shotgun, let out an obvious breath of laughter in ridicule, and then tossed his head away as if the bigger gun meant a bigger-

"From there the two support snipers will keep in the middle of the formation, in case we get horded from behind. Zoey and…" Bill left his mouth open as he stared at the new girl almost apologetically, waiting for her to fill in her own name to the blank spot like a quiz.

"You can call me Ro," she replied harmlessly.

"Ro," the man quickly recovered, "that will be you two. The rest of us will take the rear and cover our ascent. Any questions?"

"What about Hope?" Zoey couldn't help but ask once she noticed the witch's slightly distressed expression at the exclusion from the team.

Bill turned to face the witch before saying, "I assumed it would only be natural that she followed you, Zoey. After all—you two are inseparable as it is." He winked at the red faced witch, who had to hide an embarrassed smile from being revealed by digging her face into Zoey's shoulder. The human girl giggled as she ran her hand through Hope's coarse hair.

"Well? What are ya'll waiting for?" Ellis's heavy, distinguished southern drawl kicked in, a toothy grin plastered onto his face as he looked around the group of survivors. "Let's get this show on the road!"

* * *

The convoy moved quite rapidly up the stairs, despite their careful steps and eyes-open approach. However, the initial pace that the group had started at seemed to quicken as both Coach and Francis tried to out-do the other, proving that by their pace they were afraid of nothing.

"Just between you and me," Zoey heard Ellis's voice from the back of the formation as she kept her own sniper rifle trained upwards at the empty staircase before them, "this is the fastest I ever seen Coach move before."

"I heard that, Ellis," Coach's offended scowl came from the front, though the pace only quickened.

Louis's trademark chuckle offended the silence, and was joined by Rochelle's giggle at the bigger man's defensiveness.

"Looks like the old man's got it cut out for him," Francis scoffed pig-headedly. "Why don't you move to the middle of the formation and I'll slow it down for you?"

"Don't you be saying that just yet," Coach's prideful return came. "I'll show you young'uns how it's done."

"Alright you two," Bill finally remarked. "You can pillow fight later, but focus on the task ahead now."

Silence rigged the staircase after a loud "humph" from both men as they once again quickened the pace. Zoey looked down to Hope to see that the girl was smiling slightly from the comical competition.

After what felt like only a few minutes, the ceiling of the staircase became broadly visible. It seemed as though the constant push of motion from the convoy combined with the slowly creeping doubt that a radio wasn't on the top made time go by faster.

"Almost there," Francis groaned as the sight of the end reminded him of how long and high they had been trudging up the steps. A similar effect seemed to take its toll on everyone, quickly followed by a slower pace and breathless panting.

Only two more minutes put them at the top platform of the steps where an ear-ringing silence took effect. The survivors exchanged nervous glances at each other as for once Francis and Coach had a wordless mutual agreement. The two tanks of the group looked at the door that would lead them to a stunning victory or a crushing defeat.

Zoey felt her stomach rising to her throat before she swallowed hard, putting it back down where it belonged. Breathing became a task as she tried to keep it under a slow, steady pace, but instead found herself at the beginning of a hyperventilation. She looked down to see that Hope was staring up at her with the same desperate eyes that earned her name. Zoey patted the girl on the white tangled mess that sat on her head, trying to calm not only the witch, but herself.

"You all ready?" Coach's heavy, deep voice came in a cautious whisper.

No one answered, nor did anyone move. Instead, the only reaction that came was the glances that were exchanged throughout the survivors, waiting for one of them among their ranks to speak up for all of them. When none came, it was no surprise when Bill was the one to lead the morale charge. "I've been ready to get out of his hellhole since I got here."

Warm smiles spread through the group as the tension lowered from their boost in spirit. Before anyone had enough time to let the awkward aura return, Francis planted a firm foot on the door and pushed it open as hard as he could.

The creaky metal door swung open at a blinding speed before crashing noisily into the wall it was hinged to. The explosion caused everyone to glare at Francis, who smiled apologetically and shrugged, regretting his gung-ho approach for just a moment before returning his attention to the outside.

The light of the morning filtered through the doorway and spilled like a watery canvas at Zoey's feet. She, along with the others, had to use one hand to shade their eyes as they stepped outside, allowing the almost unfamiliar sunlight to pierce through their retinas at a controlled pace. The morning was cool, giving mercy to the survivors before the harsh, extreme heat would predictably take place. The chilly, damp air greeted Zoey's skin, which returned the "hello" with goose bumps and raised hairs. However, her body was numb with nerves as the two teams grouped up in their surprisingly similar formations. It was only after emerging completely from the staircase that Zoey could see just what they were up against.

Nothing.

It was a massive platform with the predicted helipad, but nothing else plagued the smooth skin of the roof except for the single control room on the opposite side edge from where the survivors had emerged. A large, motionless satellite dish sat proudly above the peak, shining in the bright light and waiting to be put to use after so long.

And the best part was-

-"Well this place is as bare as Louis's head," Francis poked fun while relaying the obvious. However, no one complained—hearing the statement being reinforced only allowed them to relax more.

"C'mon, we don't have time to waste," Bill instructed, reminding everyone of their initial purpose as he began to move. The entirety of both groups followed him as they broke their cautious formation, moving at a brisk pace towards what could've been the end to all their misery. Even Zoey had to admit that she was forcing back a laugh of joy.

Once they reached the door of the room, Francis took a more cautious lead this time and slowly pushed the door open. Both he and Coach immediately snapped their guns down to target whatever infected creature might've been waiting for a fresh meal on the other side. However, once the room was deemed cleared, the two lowered their weapons and walked inside, followed by the rest of the relieved survivors.

The radio room was nothing short of a miracle to Zoey's eyes. Control equipment laced with colorful buttons lined walls on every side. Unlike all the other rooms they had breached in the past since they got to the horrid city, this one was kept tidy. Not a piece of paper littered the floor and the chairs were still intact, sitting up in their proper places and waiting for a worker to rest his legs. However, it was the single radio box and microphone that sat on a table next to a bathroom door that really finished the perfect scenery. And from Rochelle's reaction, she guessed they felt the same way.

"Does it still work?" she asked as she darted forward into the room and stopped only after leaning against the table, hovering over the radio. Zoey caught herself waiting to see if Rochelle would drool from how appetizingly she was staring at it.

"Let's find out," Nick's calm, blank voice was next to come as the rest of the group moved inside the radio room. Everyone waited in silent, breathless anticipation as Nick took a seat that was in front of one of the control boards and slid it to the radio. He sat down and began to tamper at the radio while the rest of the group either began to pace around or watch his delicate work. But once he announced, "Alright, it's still functioning," all motion in the room came to a dead halt. Every pair of eyes locked onto Nick as he turned the dial, trying to home in on a signal as he held the microphone to his lips and began to repeat, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Zoey felt her body to numb as channel after channel returned only static and silence to the distress call. She clenched her fists tightly as time passed tediously slowly—a few times she even seemed to forget to breathe.

A soft, cold hand jarred her out of her frozen state. Zoey snapped her eyes down to her side to find that Hope was smiling comfortingly up at her, her own claws rubbing as softly as they could up and down the human girl's arm in an attempt to ease her nerves… it was like they were switching roles.

Zoey sighed as she let out a breath of laughter, forcing her body to relax. She reached a hand and ran an affectionate finger down Hope's cheek, who reached up with a claw and held the human girl's hand for a moment before allowing the demonstration of affection to end.

"Hello?"

The voice… it was far too distorted by radio static to be Nick. It had to be-

-"Hello!" Nick's voice raised out of a subtle excitement.

Laughs were exchanged throughout the room as everyone began to celebrate already. Coach reached over and gave Rochelle a strong embrace as Francis and Louis gave a hearty, loud Hi-five. Even Zoey couldn't help but give a small hop from euphoria as she wrapped her arms around Hope tightly. The witch sighed in joy as a hand patted the top of Zoey's head. Upon further investigation she saw none other than the Vietnam vet, a broad smile accenting the wrinkles of a thousand stories around his face.

"Hello?" the distorted voice came yet again, this time full of excitement. "Hello! This is EZ LZ of Camp 17, who is this?"

"Uh… Nick," the suit answered in a confused tone. "Of uh… wherever the hell we are."

"It's great to hear from you Nick," the radio operator laughed with relief. "We didn't think there were any more survivors where you're transmitting from. Are you the only one there?"

"No, I have people with me—eight others. We need evacuation ASAP, how fast can you be here?"

"The flight schedule is tied up for the rest of today Eager Beaver," the voice dubbed the new nickname, "but tomorrow second flight gets out of here at ten in the morning with your name on it. Can you hold out until then?"

Nick turned around to check with the others. However, the delay didn't seem to bother anyone—just the idea of getting out of the city so soon still remained fresh in their heads. Vigorous nods came as his response before he turned back to the radio and answered, "Yeah, we can hold. We'll be waiting for you tomorrow. Out."

"Hang tight, Beaver," the operator said heartily. "You'll be out sooner than you know."

* * *

The cool afternoon breeze sifted through Zoey's strands of deep brown, taking the sweat-soaked, dirt-ridden locks in unstable intervals before allowing them to fall back upon her face. With a single motion she used her fingers to remove the intruders back to the side, allowing her to have full sight of the sunset. Though the city was a dump and the zombies below the towering structure still mindlessly lumbered, plaguing the scenery, a sunset was a sunset… and she was lucky to see another one. Especially with her friends… _especially _with her friends.

Though the day went by slowly, not a moment was spared to meaninglessness. The men bonded, telling stories of the proudest moment in their lives as if trying to outdo one another. What once started out as a competition turned into an experience together.

The only exclusion was Nick, who remained inside the radio room, uninterested in joining. He would only exit for a moment to stand in the doorframe, survey his surroundings and his teammates, then go back in as if nothing had happened. Though he was always alone and scowling at the others whenever they laughed, Zoey couldn't help but feel that there was more to him, no matter what kind of heartless mask he displayed upon his face.

Rochelle had attempted to sleep through the day, convinced that the more she slept the sooner the chopper would arrive, and therefore the sooner she would be carried away in the arms of a leather seat away from here… far away. She remained in place throughout the day with her head on Coach's lap, only awakened by his occasional stirs to get into a more comfortable position or reach to grab one of the edible provisions that the team had found while rummaging through the structure's upper floors for supplies. There wasn't much—only a few bottles of water that they had filled up using a stereotypical office dispenser, a couple of power bars that had been stored away in hopes of later use, and a few towels that Louis had so femininely stitched together into thick blankets. It may not have been a meal or a five star hotel… but it was more than enough to keep the survivors alive and happy until their ride arrived.

Zoey, however, found herself sitting on her ankles through the day, propping her elbows on the knee-high concrete railings on the edge of the platform as she rested her head on her hands, staring out at what looked like a city of ants. Because she had remained there for so long it wasn't uncommon for one of the men, usually Ellis, to stand beside her for a moment and make sure everything was alright.

Why wouldn't everything be alright? Not only were they being rescued tomorrow, which meant a comfortable bed and a full meal, but there wasn't a moment when her best friend left her side… and after the events that had happened since they met each other, that was more than Zoey could ask for.

Hope sat quietly only an inch away from the human girl, her own eyes searching around the city as if trying to find, during the entire day, what was causing Zoey to stare out for so long. However, the witch's light-hearted, curious expression stood the test of time. It wasn't until the two girls exchanged mutual smiles a few hours back did Zoey realize that she, too, was just enjoying the company.

Zoey glanced to see that the young witch's crimson eyes were staring directly into the sunset, the bright light having no apparent effect on her retinas. Her pale skin accented as the yellow and orange flood caressed her body, deeply shading her protruding ribs and concave stomach. However, despite the odds… despite the infection and the pain… the girl's eyes still held the same childish innocence that they must've had even before the day she changed.

"Soup's on!" Francis's aggressive voice caused both of the girls to snap their attention back to where he was standing behind them, a large grin reaching from ear to ear. In both of his hands was a paper plate; from the angle Zoey was sitting in, she couldn't see what they hid. "For you," Francis addressed the human first, "a plate of non-perishable refried beans and some rice." He placed the plate down in front of Zoey before adding humorously, "Or at least what I think is rice…" The built biker then turned his attention to Hope, who tilted her head to one side in curiosity of what the man had gifted her with. "And we made sure to make a special trip for you, little lady." Zoey giggled as Hope's face turned a deep red. The witch dropped her gaze to the ground in a futile attempt to hide her shy smile. "A plate of raw ground beef."

Hope's eyes lit up as she snapped her head back up, watching intensely as Francis placed the paper plate full of what was unmistakably raw meat in front of her excitedly shaking hands. However, upon further inspection, Zoey noticed that the heap was not the same square pile that it came packaged in. Instead, it was obvious that someone had tampered with the food and given it shape… or at least attempted to.

"I uh…" Francis muttered as he scratched the back of his head nervously. "Tried to make it look like a bird… or something." He then quickly threw out, "Not like I care or anything if you can see it… I was just… bored is all." Francis forced out a laugh that Zoey immediately deemed as feigned, but she smiled nonetheless. "Yep, just bored!" He reinforced loudly as he divertingly cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. "Well you two have fun."

"Thank you, Francis," Zoey sang teasingly as the man turned around and speed walked back to where his fellowship of men waited. She then turned back down to Hope, whose eyes were still wide with an odd combination of appetite and disbelief. The human girl giggled before patting the witch on the head and saying, "If you look at it with any more of a fiery stare it might just cook itself, and you don't want that."

Hope smiled at Zoey as if she had just received her favorite toy for Christmas, and without any second of further delay, picked the… "meat bird" up with her razor claws and joyously dug in, the older girl following suit with her own food.

Only after a few minutes of enjoying her meal did Nick pop out of the Radio tower and call out to the others, "Hey! The flight out before ours got cancelled! We're getting out of here at eight!"

Cheers of approval and joy filled the air. Coach lifted a packet of grape juice in the air victoriously before toasting with the other men's fruit flavored boxes. Even Zoey had to hold back a large smile, afraid that if she opened her lips at all the contents of what was once on her plate would go back onto her plate… and not in the same way.

Chewing quickly, Zoey swallowed the portion in her mouth and turned to Hope before saying, "Hear that? We're going to get out of here earlier!"

However, the response did not come as desired. Instead of performing her trademark smile and nod, Hope's rigorous eating stopped. She slowly lowered what small amount was left of the raw beef in her hands as her eyes dulled and came out of focus, losing the twinkle and shine Zoey had become used to seeing. The witch lowered her head dismally as she let out a heaving sigh, dropping the rest of the meat back onto her plate.

Zoey's eyebrows came together in confusion. A weight seemed to tug down at her heart as the witch's look of hopelessness worsened when she closed her eyes, her long white hair covering her face from sight. Zoey put her own plate down and wrapped the girl's cold body in her arms, bringing her closer. "Hope? What's wrong? Why are you so upset?"

Slowly, the young girl's eyes lifted back to Zoey's. It was only then that the bangs parted, revealing the teary-eyed, solemn face of a child in true pain.

Zoey's mouth dropped slightly as confusion morphed into concern. "Hope… honey, what's wrong?"

The witch raised a shaking claw to Zoey, pointing at the human girl before she sniffled and pointed out towards the horizon where the sun was setting.

Zoey narrowed her eyes in thought at the action, but the fine line between understanding and interpretation was broken once Hope pulled away from the girl's hold and drew her knees up, hugging herself tightly.

"No…" Zoey whispered, her heart dropping into her stomach as she shook her head. "Hope, I'm not leaving without you—you know you're coming too, right?" The witch dismally shook her head as a tear fell to the ground. She hugged herself tighter, her claws pressing hard against her own skin. However, Zoey refused to give up as she leaned over and placed a hand on the pale girl's trembling shoulder. "I'm not leaving without you, Hope. If you're worried about the Pilot not accepting you we'll talk to him and I know he'll let you in. And I'll make everyone accept you and you'll live a normal life, I promise."

However, nothing seemed to consolidate the witch in her darkest hour. Instead, the girl shrugged away from Zoey's hand and stood up, though her head remained down, walking away from the edge of the building before disappearing in the Radio room.

And there she left Zoey, cold filling in as company where Hope once sat, wondering if she had done something wrong.

* * *

The sun's light had been replaced by the stars' twinkling shine and the moon's ominous glow. It was no longer cool and breezy outside, but cold and unforgiving. However, the survivors' renewed spirit challenged them to sleep outside, warmed by a sense of hope and excitement. They would be waking early tomorrow, so the sooner they went to bed the faster their escape would come. The theory had become popular amongst them—everyone else was already fast asleep, snoring their hearts away to dreams of a new life.

It was only when Zoey entered the radio room alone a few hours ago did she see Hope, her pale, balled form, leaned up against the back corner of the wall next to where Nick was still soundlessly managing the radio. One she had entered, however, he peered down to where the witch was curled before standing up, nodding his goodnights, and exiting out of the room to give the two girls their time. The temptation to hold Hope as tightly as she could and whisper sweet nothings into her ear had to be suppressed once she saw that the young girl was asleep, though restlessly.

Zoey had swallowed hard as she tried to bottle the emotions digging deeply at her heart. Instead, she decided it would be best simply if she left the witch alone to figure out whatever was destroying her on the inside. After draping a makeshift towel blanket over Hope's seemingly motionless body, the human girl set up her sleeping place alone on the floor of the room where she was lying awake at the moment.

Heavy eyes and a strong desire to remain dormant didn't help Zoey fall asleep. Though she was tired… though she had the thought of sleep biting at what was left of her conscious mind… she found that rest was almost impossible.

Zoey turned her head from her lying position to find that Hope was still in the same position as before, huddled alone in a corner away from the rest of the group.

What happened?

The question ripped mercilessly away at Zoey's mind, sending impulses of confusion and frustration all around her body.

_No…_ Zoey shook the sleeplessness away from her body. _There's no reason to be upset or worried, because I'm going to prove her wrong tomorrow. She'll come onto the helicopter because the pilot will accept her for who she is… and she'll be happy, I know it." _

And it was with this reasoning that Zoey forced herself to sleep.

* * *

A barely audible metallic clack jarred Zoey out of her already-pointless sleep. She bolted up into a sitting position on full alert before looking around, immediately forcing her senses to sharpen. However, when no alerted response came from the others outside, she decided that she was simply hearing things.

Zoey groaned as she closed her eyes and rubbed her face with her hands, trying to massage some sense into her troubled mind-

-a small light caught the corner of her eyes. Zoey snapped her attention to the source to find that it was none other than the bathroom light, the door slightly ajar from the careless half-asleep occupant. Sighing as she shook her head, Zoey turned to Hope to make sure that the blankets were still on the girl-

-she was gone.

Zoey's entire body spiked with adrenalin as she saw that the corner the girl once sat in was empty, the makeshift cover tossed messily on the ground. However, she slowly relaxed as she remembered that the bathroom light was on, and Hope was probably the one in… there…

The thought slowed down in Zoey's head as it steadily transitioned into another one. Hope had never used the bathroom since they had met up… why now? Even Zoey had taken a few bathroom breaks during the day when she had a chance to freely move about… but Hope never did. What was going on?

Zoey grimaced as the thought of food poisoning crept into her mind. The poor girl might've been throwing up in there; who knew how long that uncooked beef had been sitting around.

The girl quietly got to her feet, careful not to trip as she slid out of Louis's handiwork and cautiously made her way to the bathroom. "Hope?" she whispered as she rapped the door lightly twice. "Are you okay?"

Not an answer came—that was stupid. Hope couldn't talk.

Zoey let out a disappointed sigh at herself—how inconsiderate of her.

Slowly she pushed open the bathroom door, careful not to startle the witch as she peeked to see what was going on-

-Zoey felt her knees weaken as she nearly collapsed on the floor from what sight cruelly smiled at her. Her entire body froze and her fingers went numb, her eyes widening as her mouth gaped to scream but made no sound.

Inside the bathroom, Hope was sitting on the ground in a corner, her desperate sobs and sniffles only accenting the sight. In her large claws was a shape that Zoey had become so familiar with—her own Colt 1911. The witch desperately fumbled with the weapon like a toy, but only one thing came through: the barrel was pointed at herself.

"Hope!" Zoey gasped as she darted forward and snatched the gun away in an instant and held an arm out to stop the immediate attempt to reclaim it. The witch moaned loudly in protest as she reached feebly for the weapon, her teary eyes wide with desperation. "Hope stop!"

However, the pale girl continued to fight against Zoey's push, her hands raking madly for the gun that she had just tried to take her own life with.

Empowered by adrenalin, Zoey shoved the witch back down to the ground with a powerful thrust of her hand. Hope scattered to the ground where she no longer fought, but only seized from her silent tears.

What had just happened?

It was too much. Zoey's brain tried to process the confusion into anger before it destroyed itself. A fit of rage immediately overtook the older girl as she dropped the pistol to the ground behind her and swept down to clutch the crying witch's shoulders. She ripped Hope to her feet and turned her around, meeting the pale girl's terrified, tear-filled gaze with a glare of misplaced hatred before seizing her shoulders once more, this time tightening her grip as she shook the sobbing creature violently.

"What were you thinking?" Zoey demanded in a voice that she was too blind to control. "What were you thinking Hope? Did you really want to destroy our chance at getting out of this shit hole?"

The witch's sobs turned into loud whines as she fearfully switched her attention from one of Zoey's eyes to the other, searching desperately for some form of reprieve. When she found none, her body trembled violently from the grip of the one she no longer recognized.

"Answer me god damn it!" the human girl yelled as she gave Hope another violent shake. "We were so close! Is this how you repay me? Is it? I know you can talk don't you play stupid with me!"

However, the witch remained quiet as she closed her eyes and lowered her head, her tears pouring out uncontrollably.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Zoey screamed. "Look at me! If this is how you thank people for saving your life then maybe I should've let you die!"

The struggling came to a dead halt. Not another motion was made from the witch as the words hit her like a brick, laughing at her innermost fears now that they were nothing compared to what she had heard.

Even Zoey froze as the adrenalin wore off, slapping her cruelly back to reality. All breath escaped her lips as she stared soundlessly at the weeping creature that had once trusted her with her very life. And now…

"No…" the human girl whispered as her voice cracked. She loosened her grip of angst to one of attempted comfort. However, the witch made no motion to look up. She only remained standing as her head hung, her hair the only offering of sight she would give. "Hope… I don't know why I even said that I didn't mean it…"

Another spear flew through Zoey's heart as every second passed that the tiny, shaking girl refused to react. From underneath the curtain of coarse white came droplets of rain, splattering silently to the ground.

"Oh God Hope," Zoey breathed as she, too, began to weep bitter tears of regret. "I didn't know what to do… how to react… please forgive me you know I didn't mean it…"

Zoey's breath caught itself in her lungs as Hope finally raised her head to greet the human girl's eyes. However, instead of a look of pain in her eyes, they displayed the very thing that had earned her name… hope.

Confusion swept through Zoey's body as she was met by a weak but unmistakable smile beneath the tears streaking her face. Hope gave a small nod before eyeing something over her friend's shoulder. The human girl traced the gaze behind her to find herself staring at the Colt on the ground, its shining barrel singing to the witch.

"No," Zoey gasped as she snapped her attention back to the little girl. "You want me to…" She swallowed hard as she forced on a smile and choked out a breath of laughter in ridicule. "You can't really expect me to…" But when her smile was only returned by a shake of Hope's head, her lips faded into a trembling grimace of disbelief. "No… I can't… I won't… I won't! I didn't mean it you mean the world to me and I would never want you to… to…" Zoey coughed on her own tears as she sniffled uncontrollably, unable to say the last word. "Why Hope? Why do you want to end your life?"

Gently, desperate smile still displayed upon her lips, Hope reached down and grabbed Zoey's wrist before leading her to the bathroom's mirror. The human girl could only watch as the witch displayed them both in the reflection. Hope lifted Zoey's hand so that they could both see it in the mirror, smiling admirably as she turned it from palm up to palm down and repeated the process repeatedly. She then lowered the human hand and raised her claw, grimacing in detest at the razor sharp talons. Before Zoey could react, the witch was playing with her bobbed ponytail, fondling the soft strands carefully between her fingers before using the same claw to rub a few strands of her own white hair together. The grinding caused stiff, dry cracking noises to bounce off the bathroom's tile walls. The human girl remained silent as Hope made her last point, lightly picking up Zoey's arm and caressing it with her pale, cold palm. A shiver tore its way up and down Zoey's spine, causing the hairs on her arm to stand on end as goose bumps blemished her once-soft skin. When she reversed the roles, however, a smile of satisfaction came when the warmth on Zoey's hand graced her own frozen, pale arm.

Hope returned her attention to the mirror, causing the human girl to do the same. With a slow, shaking hand, the witch placed her claws on the top of her side on the mirror before slowly raking deep scars into its reflective surface, marring and distorting her image while keeping Zoey's perfect.

It was only then that Zoey understood.

"You…" she stuttered out, swallowing hard before she could utter the rest of the sentence. "You don't want to live because… you think you're a…" Zoey had to force the last words out of herself. "A freak?"

A warm yet pained smile blessed the girl's pale face as she turned to face the human, nodding an affirmation that Zoey just threw a bull's eye.

"Is that why… you don't want to get away from here?" she choked out, her body tensing as she tried to hold back her tears. "You just… don't want to go on?"

Tears began to well up in Hope's eyes as she nodded again, the grin broadening ever so slightly on her lips.

However, Zoey refused to accept it. She refused to let her friend… the closest one she got to ever since she started this fight against all the zombies in the world… to destroy herself, mentally or physically.

"No…" the human girl's weak voice came as she shook her head, trying her best to frown as she contributed her own tears. "No," she repeated, her voice stronger as her sight blurred. Hope's weak smile dropped into an expression of sadness as Zoey continued to shake her head. "You know what? No. That's not how it's going to do and do you know why? Because I don't care what you think." The witch's eyebrows came together as she put on a hurt face. "That's right, I don't care what you think," Zoey restated as she clenched her jaws, fighting to keep the dam that held her tears in strong. "And I don't care what anyone else thinks either. I don't care about what my parents will think, I don't care what Bill or Francis or Louis or _anyone else_ in this entire God damn world thinks. Do you know why?" Zoey had to swallow hard to maintain control before continuing. "Because you're the most beautiful girl in this entire freaking world, that's why."

Hope's display of sadness turned into one of confusion as she looked directly into Zoey's eyes… right back into her soul… unsure of how to take the older girl's struggle to keep herself from falling apart and unsure of how to take the compliment.

"Yeah, I said it," Zoey continued, unable to stop herself as she forced a smile of ridicule on her face. "And you know what? I'm sticking to it. You know why? Because you're only probably twelve years old but you've been alone in this shithole longer than any of us. You still feel fear and you still get scared but you were strong enough to live. Me? Remember when I was stumbling through that dark room to find you after the tank split us up? I was terrified. That's right, terrified. I wanted to just kill myself to end all the fear after only like… ten seconds of being alone in that room. But you've been here, alone in the dark, for probably months now and yet here you still are."

Before the witch could try and comfort Zoey, the girl stopped her attempts by blurting out in her shaking voice, "You want to know what else? You're my idol." Hope pulled back in a motion of disbelief. "Yeah, funny huh? But you're so strong and you're so independent and you're like… probably ten years younger than me. And here you are… better than anyone else that ever got infected, with your sane mind and understanding. Your determination alone kept your humanity, while everyone else that probably called you a stupid kid before is now a mindless zombie. You outdid them and you're twelve. You're not a witch… you're a human inside of a witch's body, that's exactly what you are."

Hope swallowed hard as guilt tore at her heart. By trying to make her feel better, Zoey was destroying herself. The pale girl reached a claw out slowly to attempt to comfort her once more but was stopped yet again as the older girl lifted a hand as a gesture to stop, causing Hope to drop her hand down to her side in helplessness.

"No, no," Zoey gasped through her slowly thinning wall of composure. "And you know what? Do you want to hear it?" Before Hope could respond, however, the breaking woman only shook her head and said, "Well I'm going to tell you anyways. All of these qualities… everything you've done here has made you the girl that I'm jealous of—the independent girl I always wanted to be. And ten years more of experience than you hasn't even begun to grace me with what you already have. It's because you're you…" Zoey gestured a hand towards Hope, "Pale, cold skin, coarse hair, red eyes, claws… and an endless well of hope that kept you alive this far…." The girl clenched her jaw as a last ditch effort to keep herself together, but failed miserably as she finally broke down. Zoey fell to her knees, sobbing violently as Hope slowly knelt down beside her, unsure of if she should try and consolidate her fallen friend. "It's because you're you that I love you with everything I have!" the human girl finally cried.

Hope's breathing paused as the words played back in her head over and over like a broken record. Her entire world turned upside down as she scrambled to remember when the last time she had heard those three words spoken to her.

"Yeah, I said it!" Zoey continued through her shaken sobs. "I love you Hope! I don't know what I'd do without you and I don't ever want to be without you! You're the most wonderful, magnificent, beautiful girl I have ever met in my life and I can't go on without you now that I know what life is like with you!"

All words came to an end as the older girl buried her face in her hands, the painful cries tearing through Hope's heart.

The pale girl opened her mouth and desperately tried to say what she had on her mind… she fought against the impossible to force her voice to function once again… just so she could tell Zoey that she, too, loved her back. But no matter the strain and no matter the desire, not a single word would escape the lips that had been sworn silent for three months now.

Hope raked her brain for anything that could've demonstrated her love. A hug wasn't enough… a caress of her cold talons on Zoey's soft, warm face would never be caring enough to accurately express her feelings. There was only one thing she could do.

Cautiously… carefully… with all the control she had left in her body, Hope reached out with a claw to Zoey's chin before lifting it out of her tear-soaked hands. The broken girl's fields of green locked onto Hope's seas of fire for a brief moment before the pale girl leaned forward, and with a final push, locked lips with the human in a sweet kiss that no words would ever be able to explain.

* * *

The night was silent. The light of the bathroom that had only illuminated suffering was now extinguished. The Colt 1911 that threatened a wonderful life was safely tucked into its holster and stored on the radio table. The cold of the night was not a factor to the two bodies that lie together, love fueling warmth no blanket could ever provide. The creeping loneliness was shunned by Zoey's protective arm, holding Hope close to her own body as if she would never let go.

And the hatred Hope had for herself dissipated, replaced by the kisses she received on her cheek and the loving whisper of a sleep wished well.

* * *

_Alright guys, the last chapter is coming up! I wanted to take a poll/vote thing on what should happen next! _

_1. A tragic ending that will strengthen the love the two girls have for each other_

_2. An ending that leads into a sequel, but leaves the reader angrily awaiting the final conclusion_

_3. A happy ending! _

_If you want, you can leave your votes in the reviews section or just PM me! Once I get enough votes, I can promise you that the chapter will be posted the next day! Thank you all so much!_


	10. Chapter 10

____

_Hey guys! Thanks for all your awesome reviews and all your poll votes! Hehe! I didn't really expect for that many replies to come into my Inbox that fast ;P But it seemed as though a _

_favorite was clearly chosen! Somewhat of a mix between 1 and 2 seemed to be the preferable one, so here is my attempt! Thank you guys for giving this story a shot! Two things are posted now: This chapter, and an epilogue, so make sure to read both so you don't get Left 4... Behind! (Hehe I'm sorry I tried ;P) Enjoy! ^^_

* * *

"Hello? Hello, Beaver, do you copy? Hello?"

The static voice tugged Zoey away from her first good night's sleep in a while. The soft, cold body of Hope pressed against her own was the first thing to grace her senses, her chest rising and falling at random intervals—she was waking up as well.

Zoey took a deep breath, forcing herself awake as she jumped up as quickly as she could, having to stabilize herself to keep from falling over before groggily staggering her way towards the radio like a drunk. Vision began to sharpen and clarify next, allowing her to see the outline of the microphone more clear as the man on the other side continued to call, "Beaver? Do you read? This is EZ LZ calling you with some important news. Please respond."

With what motor skills were finally coming to her, the tired woman reached out and cautiously grabbed the microphone, making sure her fingers were wrapped fully around its cold frame before lifting it to her lips and answering, "This is Zoey," she forced herself to sound as awake as possible. However, the rasp in her voice gave her away easily.

"Good to hear from you Zoey," the distorted voice greeted. "We are leaving the camp in approximately half an hour. Do you copy?"

"Copy," Zoey answered as she shook herself awake. "What time is it?"

"It is six in the morning, Little Lass," the operator dubbed her. "But that's not why I called. The zombies are known to be attracted to sounds, as I'm sure you're fully aware."

Zoey grimaced as the thought of the zombies filtered back into her mind. With all that had gone on the night before, the flesh devouring creatures were at the least of her list. However, now that she had some time to sit and think, she realized where he was going.

"Affirmative," she tried to sound as radio-savvy as possible.

"When we fly over to your location there's no doubt that we'll be turning the heads of every damn zombie in a mile radius," his serious response came, reflecting the concern that he must've held in his eyes. "They'll want to know what the commotion is all about and I'm sure it won't take long for them to reach your location. And to add to it, you're going to have to activate that satellite dish on top when I get close so it starts coming up on my radar; that'll tell me exactly where you are. It hasn't been used in a while and I'm sure once the gears start spinning it 'round it's going to make one hell of a noise. I hope you and your team are ready for a fight, Little Lass, because you're going to have to make one hell of a stand."

Zoey swallowed hard as she nodded, despite the fact that she knew he couldn't see her. He was right—ever zombie practically in the entire city would be charging at their doors, eager to find out what all the commotion was about. If they wanted to have any chance at survival, they would have to start making a strategy… and now.

"Roger," her uneasy response came, though she attempted to make her voice sound strong and sure.

"Keep your ears on the horizon, Little Lass," the man instructed carefully. "Once you hear that copter coming you know that it's got company."

"Will do, EZ LZ," Zoey breathed through shriveling lungs. "Over and out."

With that, the girl put the microphone down on the table and sighed as she shook her head, rubbing her temples soothingly. She knew that freedom would come at a price… but why such a dangerous one? One or two zombies standing stupidly on the street, practically asking for bullets to introduce themselves, was a joke. But the horde… a horde attracted by a car horn was bad enough. Who knew what it would be like from a helicopter's rotors.

A light tap on her back caused Zoey to turn and find that Hope was standing behind her, her crimson eyes staring strongly at the older woman. A moment of silence passed as the two girls found strength and consolidation in each others' gaze.

"C'mon," Zoey finally sighed after a deep breath, prodded on by the pale girl's endless vigor. "Let's go tell the others."

However, as the two girls turned to warn their fellow teammates, the doors that held the warning in the radio room creaked open, revealing the seven survivors, their faces riddled with determination and their hands filled with weapons as they walked in.

"No need," Bill was the first to speak as he let out a heaving sigh, crossing his arms as he leaned against one of the random control boards. "We heard everything. We've been awake longer than you, princess."

Zoey shook her head, blowing off the harmless comment before asking, "So? What are we going to do?"

"We're going to do just what he said," Francis's rough voice was only accented by the morning crap caught in his throat. He coughed a few times to get it out before turning and spitting it back out the door they left open. "We make one hell of a stand."

"There's nothing to worry 'bout," Ellis's southern drawl kicked in just as excited and eager as ever. "If four of us can take an open street, I know for damn sure that nine of us can hold a helipad."

Zoey couldn't help but smile at the boy's enthusiasm. However, once he noticed her grin, he turned a deep shade of red and immediately snapped his head back down to the ground where he stuffed his hands in his pocket and kicked pointlessly at the floor beneath him.

"Ellis got a point," Coach agreed heartily. "It's like Nick always says."

All eyes turned to the suited man and his neatly slung AK around his back. For the first time since Zoey had met him, a sly smile slipped across his sharp face. "I have not come this far to die now."

Only the sound of the passing breeze could be heard as the survivors kept their eyes to the horizon and their ears to the skies. Each one of them clutched their individual weapons as though it were the only thing keeping them alive. It wasn't a far stretch from the truth… aside from the bullets that would come screaming from their guns, they had teamwork and their wits. All three were valuable assets… and they would have to be used to their fullest extent if they wanted to live past the day.

The strategy had been planned and agreed on. Being formulated by Bill's military experience and adjusted by all to make sure every last detail was perfect, it was something that Zoey found to bring a little more confidence to the table. If their strategy worked, they would be on a one way ticket to home without much fuss. But if something went wrong… if something was left uncalculated…

Zoey squeezed her eyes shut for just a moment before opening them to keep an eye on the east side of the structure where she was appointed to observe with Hope.

There couldn't be any doubt… not now. Everything had been accounted for, and that was something she would have to force through her head.

Zoey spun around once she reached the corner of her side and began to pace back to the other, continuing her pointless patrol. Hope had taken on her approach and was doing the same, passing Zoey every now and then and giving her a helpful, much-needed smile.

The weight of her five spare sniper and two extra pistol magazines began to magnify with each passing step, burdening her further as it combined with the futile attempt to keep doubts at bay. The hunting rifle that she had become so familiar with was clutched tightly in her fingers, the sling fastened securely around her body. There would be no mistake… no accident. There couldn't be.

"Ears to the North!" Rochelle's voice pierced through what was left of Zoey's calm like a sniper round. "That is definitely the sound of a helicopter!"

The survivors ceased their pointless movements and nervous fiddling as each one of them craned their necks to try and hear what Rochelle had claimed. And there, though barely audible, was the beating of a chopper's rotors against the wind. Their ride was coming… and that meant so were the zombies.

"Turn on the beacon!" Bill immediately turned and called into the radio room which was manned by none other than Nick.

Zoey's breaths became short and unsteady as she saw the nod of acknowledgement come from the suited man before he retreated into the walls of the room, hidden as he worked to activate the distress signal-

-a loud explosion of metal, as if a rock had been dropped between the grates of a school bleacher, shook the air around them as the satellite dish came to life. And as if fate was laughing at them, the metal scraping against rust as the tower began its rotation shrieked a call to ever zombie that could hear it… and that was quite a few.

"Holy shit that was loud!" Francis screamed over the high pitched grinding of the radio beast coming to life.

However, a noise prioritized itself in Zoey's ears that rang through not only her bones, but her very heart.

A loud, shrill shriek filled the air, echoing off the buildings below before it was joined by another one… then another one… then another one until the cries were coming from all around the towering structure. Zoey shot a nervous glance to Hope, who kept her eyes determined and brave as she could only offer a simple nod.

"Ro! Zoey!" Nick called as he was running out of the radio room, tearing his AK from behind his back and running to his own designated point in front of the entrance door but behind Francis and Coach. "You guys know what to do!"

Zoey glanced over to Rochelle, who offered the same understanding nod that Hope had earlier as she ran to the north side of the building. It was done—Zoey was posted on the west side, Rochelle on the North, Ellis on the East, and Louis on the South.

Breathing became a task as the first zombie visible to her side came charging out of an alleyway nudged mysteriously between two buildings far below. However, in only a second he was joined by many, many others… at least five hordes worth, each filtering out of their own alleyways, crooks, and corners. At least five masses to a side… that meant at least twenty hordes altogether, charging the location that would either spell life or death to the survivors.

Zoey forced her body to move as she gripped her hunting rifle tightly, aiming it down at the approaching horde. Without bothering to scope in on the moving carpet, she began to fire pot shots into the crowd, watching as one zombie would fall victim to every shot while still keeping an eye on the west side's walls-

-there it was—the reason she was posted up so close to the edge.

From the massive horde of zombies came at least five hunters, breaking their way out of the mass and charging excitedly towards the building, their speed unmatched by any of the other infected. However, instead of scrambling around until they found an entrance as Zoey knew the common creatures would do, the nimble hunters lunged at the walls, digging their razor sharp claws into the bricks of the building before beginning their speedy ascent up the tall structure.

Taking a deep breath, Zoey raised the sniper's sight to her eye and took careful aim on the one closest to the top, though he was only ten stories up. The crosshairs bobbed and weaved around the hunter's head from a mixture of its own weight as well as her own nerve before Zoey found the pattern to her own shaking. She waited for the predicted moment when the cross would mark its fatal spot once more and snapped the trigger in. The sniper kicked upwards as it sent the round crashing down into the hunter's face. The creature made no sound as its head exploded like a melon from the impact, sending rinds of tissue and skull in every direction as its body finally gave in, no longer tightly gripping the walls of the building. Silently it fell ten stories where it slapped limply against the concrete before disappearing underneath the wave of zombie bodies.

Zoey took no time to admire her work as she immediately snapped to the next hunter, firing another perfectly landing round into its rotting head.

Shot after shot blasted from the hunting rifle's gleaming barrel, proudly scoring a head shot every time. However, it was as though there was no end to their numbers. Another hunter would take a fallen comrade's place fresh off the line, eager to be the one to catch the sniper at long last-

-the gun clicked empty. Zoey's eyes widened as she realized that the closest hunter was only ten stories away before finally reacting. She ejected the spent magazine and with practiced precision reached into her jacket and slapped a fresh one in before the dead cartridge even hit the ground. Zoey cocked the first round into the chamber and snap aimed the crosshairs right onto the excited hunter's head before crushing his dreams in with a bullet to the head. It fell silently back to the ground like its brethren before it.

Behind her, she could hear the powerful rounds of shotguns begin to blast their way through the zombies that had already been occupying the topmost floors of the building—they had the honor of dying before the real horde actually arrived.

However, she didn't allow it to take her focus. She continued to fire shots down at the slowly advancing army of crawling hunters, praying with all her might that the others were doing just as well as she was… or hopefully better.

Though she scored a kill with every shot that burst forth from the muzzle of her powerful sniper, the time it took to switch from target to target was allowing the hunters to come closer with every passing second. It would only be a second before she would have to take some of the closest shots with a sniper rifle that she'd ever made.

"Hope!" Zoey called over the rapid, deafening fire all around her. "When they get close I'm going to need you to help me and claw them off! Can you do that for me?"

A soft pat on her back acknowledged the request before Zoey saw Hope begin to patrol the wall from the corner of her eyes. The pale girl's claws trembled in anxiety as she stared down at the hunters, their shrieks chilling even her to the bone.

Only a moment passed before Zoey could look into the eyes of the hooded creature only a story away from her. Its erratic panting could be heard from the uncomfortable distance before she snapped the sniper rifle to its head and hip-aimed two shots. One collided with its arm, stalling its movement for a much needed split second until the second bullet cascaded into its face. Once the body rag dolled to the ground, it was immediately replaced by another hunter to her left, who was so close Zoey could smell its putrid breath. Without a second of delay the woman sprinted the necessary three steps and jammed the sniper rifle's barrel into the throat of the pre-shrieking hunter before firing a shot. The hunter's entire body seemed to ripple as its neck exploded, splashing warm, wet flaps of flesh onto Zoey's face and sweatshirt. The sniper carelessly wiped the chunks off her cheek before shooting a quick glance to her side. Only a few feet away, Hope was arching her fatal claws far behind her head, waiting for a hunter to take one more step up before bringing them down upon its head. The hooded creature screeched as its head was torn to shreds in a single swipe before falling into an unfortunate hunter directly beneath it and bringing them both to their ultimate death.

It was only then that Zoey could see that her wall only held four more hunters. The bad news was that they were only an inch away from the top where Hope was nervously eyeing which one to tear down first. She made up her mind at the same time Zoey did, clawing at the furthest hunter from the sniper's location as three rounds were sent careening into the closest. Both infected fell at the same time, giving the two girls just enough breathing room to switch to their final targets and take them out with lightning precision and accuracy.

Though her wall was clear, it was far from celebrating time.

"You help Rochelle!" Zoey instructed as she had already begun sprinting towards where Ellis was screaming at a hunter that he was beating with the butt of his gun—he needed to reload, and from the looks of it, Louis's side had the least amount of resistance.

Zoey took a chance. As she ran, she snapped the sniper's scope to her eye, studied her shaking pattern for the second she was allowed, and fired a round at what she hoped would be the hunter's head right next to Ellis's arm.

A satisfactory wet, crunching pop was heard as the hunter's skull disappeared into a cloud of meat and blood rain, causing Ellis to flinch for a moment before Zoey finally arrived at the wall. "Reload!" she called in panic as she realized that four hunters were only a moment away from mounting the rooftop. The sound of Ellis's magazine falling to the ground as a new one was slapped in became the most beautiful song in her ears as she killed two more just in time for Ellis to release four hearty bursts from his weapon into the remaining two.

"You're a saint!" Ellis's heavy accent was only made less understandable from his volume. "Now c'mon, we got a job to finish!"

Zoey wordlessly agreed as she, in one motion, turned to the main entrance and snapped her gun to safety, slinging it onto her back and whipping out her trusted Cold 1911. As if perfectly timed, Hope and Rochelle had just began their sprint to support the men who were firing through the open door to the roof, still killing the eager singles that had already inhabited the structure. Louis had already joined their ranks, standing beside Bill and Nick as they fired over the crouched Couch and Francis. The second part of the plan took effect once all four wall-watchers were positioned next to the door guards. Zoey spun around to face the edges of the building once again before snapping her pistol up, patrolling with her eyes as she and the other three prepared to take out any stragglers that were late up the wall, keeping as close together as possible.

An uncomfortable rumbling sound was quick to ensue. It started out modestly, but quickly turned into a nightmarish scream as hundreds of feet stomped their way up the metal staircase.

"Here comes the party!" Francis screamed over the deafening roar. I hope you guys are ready!"

It wasn't long until the screech of the first zombie of the massive hoard could be heard directly behind Zoey. All instincts told her to turn around and blast it in its drooling maw, but she knew her job to keep an eye out and forced herself to put full faith into the team behind her to do their work.

The roof was clear so far, though her hands shook more and more violently with every passing second as if anticipating something would appear soon.

A coughed burst coming unmistakably from an Uzi came from behind Zoey—Louis had found a straggler, and from the immediate silence of his weapon afterwards, had put it down to an eternal rest.

It was only a second before Bill screamed words that Zoey had been nervously anticipating the entire time. "Let 'em have it!"

The higher pitch of the M-16 took the lead as the lower rumble of the AK-47 played as the rhythm, joined by the booming explosions of a fully automatic and a pump action shotgun. The screams of zombies falling behind her raised every hair on Zoey's body, sending endless chills racing up and down her spine.

However, almost instantaneously afterwards did the helicopter's rotors come into the beautiful song of hope. The beating against the wind could be easily heard over the shrieks and screams of the zombies—it had to be closer than ever now.

"Here comes the chopper!" Rochelle screamed at the top of her lungs, desperately attempting to outdo the hellish jumble of noises. "We have to end this now!"

It was Zoey's turn.

"Nick!" she yelled as she holstered her pistol and turned to face the hallway of piling bodies. The zombies crawled disgustingly over the heap, slowing them down but not stopping them from being mauled by a rain of fire.

With a snap of his hand, the suit threw the bottle of the familiar thick brown liquid behind him, allowing it to come to a skidding halt at Zoey's feet. She scrambled to pick up the liquor and jerk off its cap before tearing a pre-prepared foot long shred of towel that she hastily jammed into the top of the bottle. The absorbent material quickly saturated itself with the liquid before Zoey screamed for Bill.

In the same fashion as Nick, the veteran refused to take his gun or eyes off the door as he snapped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his signature butane lighter, sliding it behind him and to Zoey's waiting hand. She caught it perfectly and flicked it open, the small flame glowing in the bottle's reflection. She graced the tip of the towel with the lighter until it shared the burning flame, burning the materials and inching its way to the bottle.

"Alright guys get ready!" she screamed over the sound of the helicopter that was landing behind her.

"Contact has been made with the LZ!" the pilot's voice blared from the helicopter's exterior speakers. "Let's go! We don't have all day! The second horde is on its way already!"

"Three!" Zoey began her countdown over the seemingly endless fire. "Two! One! Move!"

As planned, everyone dove out of the way of the door right as Zoey hurled the crude Molotov cocktail into the stairwell room. The weak plastic bottle shattered on impact with the far side wall before lighting immediately from the towel's blistering flame. The fiery explosion lit the group of zombies in the immediate blast zone on fire and laid a carpet of defense down just long enough to deter the infected creatures and hopefully allow the survivors to escape into the helicopter only a few yards away-

-"God damn it!" Bill's trademark scream pierced through Zoey's ears.

As she whipped around, her face turned pale as she saw that the veteran was on the ground, his two hands clutched around his ankle.

"Bill!" Zoey screamed as she snapped her attention back to the flaming stairwell. It may have been fighting the burning, stumbling creatures off for now, but she could tell it was already beginning to extinguish. "Francis! Louis! Get him out of here!"

The two men took the direct orders immediately as they swept down and each took a side underneath the veteran's arms, lifting him off the ground and running him to the waiting chopper.

"Zoey! C'mon!" Ellis's slowly distancing screams came as she fired a few pistol rounds into the two zombies' heads that had made it past the flame with only their shoes on fire. Even Hope desperately tugged at her sweatshirt, but it wasn't until she was sure there were no more threats that Zoey turned and began sprinting towards the chopper that everyone, save Hope and herself, were already sitting in, watching her with wide eyes as they made their way to their safety.

That was it… no accident had gone unaccounted. Every last detail in the strategy had worked—it would only be five more steps until Zoey was safely in the chopper and they lifted off, spiriting away from a flawless, fully accounted plan-

-except for that.

Zoey felt her heart run cold as she was greeted by the barrel of a pistol only three steps away from the safety her heart yearned for so much. She stopped dead in her tracks before tracing the barrel to the grip… the grip to the hand… the hand to the arm… the arm to the body and the body to the face of a very angry Rochelle, her expression twisted into a grimace of hatred.

"Rochelle!" Nick's bewildered scream came from inside the chopper where he and the others were already securely fastened. "What the fuck has gotten into you? Move the gun and let her in!"

"I swore!" the trembling African American woman shrieked as tears began to roll down her cheek. "The day my entire family was killed by the infection I swore that not a single one of them would live when I was done! And I'm not about to let some fucking witch ruin that for me!"

"Have you fucking lost it?" Francis's scream came next as he struggled to escape his tightly buckled restraints, but to no avail.

"Rochelle! Please!" Zoey begged desperately, her entire body shaking as the sounds the zombies on fire were becoming less and less pained… they were breaking through. "Let us in! Hope is different! She helped us! She helped you!"

However, the only response that came was a shake of the woman's head as she screamed, "Either Hope stays or you both do!"

"Get the fuck in here now!" the pilot's angry voice came over the loudspeakers as Zoey's entire world came to a shattering halt. "We don't have much time!"

However, the woman's hold and aim on the pistol didn't move, and the others were too far away and strapped in tight to stop her from being the only thing standing between Hope, Zoey, and their new life.

Time froze as Zoey recalled what she had said to Hope the night before… she had said that she loved her with all her heart. She had kissed the girl who was her hero… who was her best friend. But now, all she had to do to escape in the helicopter to a new life… was sacrifice her best friend.

A weak smile spread over the woman's lips as she knew what answer she had to choose.

Slowly, Zoey shook her head, and was immediately returned by stares of terror that crossed everyone's face inside the helicopter… everyone but Rochelle, who only grimaced in detest.

"I love Hope!" Zoey screamed over the rapidly beating rotor blades, signaling that the pilot was already beginning to take off. "And I won't leave her! Ever!"

"Rochelle you fucking bitch!" Louis screamed as he jerked and bucked against the heavy buckles. "I'll fucking kill you! You let her on right now! Right now!"

But no reprieve came as the lady only holstered her pistol as the helicopter rose a centimeter off the ground. She sat next to Coach, who only stared at her in jaw-dropping disbelief as she buckled herself in and shook her head down at the two girls.

This was it—death together with the girl she loved. At that moment, Zoey couldn't have asked for anything more.

* * *

Hope watching in silent terror as the helicopter rose an inch off the ground… without Zoey in it.

She had understood. She knew that the only reason her best friend had refused to enter the chopper to safety was because of her. It was because she didn't take her own life last night that not only was she going to die, but her lover… the only one that cared to see past her appearance and accept her for who she was.

No.

Hope clenched her jaw tightly as she bore her razor sharp teeth, displaying her frustration and anger to the world.

It was the toughest decision she'd ever make… but it was the one she knew would be right.

Without warning, Hope seized Zoey by the shoulders. The human girl gasped as she felt the witch's cold claws cutting through her sweatshirt and shallowly into her skin.

"Hope?" Zoey's confused scream came as the helicopter lifted a foot into the air. "Hope what are you doing? WHAT ARE YOU DOING PUT ME DOWN!"

However, her shrieks of demand only fell upon determined ears to keep her lover safe.

With all the energy she could muster, Hope threw her one true love as hard as he could, watching in what could only be described as pure bliss as Zoey fell onto her stomach in the belly of the helicopter where she immediately scrambled to her feet, but was restrained by Francis and Bill, who nodded their tear-filled understanding to Hope…

The girl who finally paid back the debt she owed to her love.

* * *

"HOPE!" Zoey screeched like a banshee as she jerked and fought, attempting to tear her way out of the combined strength of Francis and Bill. "LET ME GO!" screamed as the helicopter rose higher and higher into the air. Tears fell hysterically out of the screaming girl's eyes as she wanted to jump… she wanted to go down and die with her friend where she belonged. But they didn't let her… they kept her from her one true love and the destiny that she had so willfully chosen to accept but was now being torn away from on the wings of a cold black bird.

The last she saw of Hope was the pale girl's small, innocent smile spreading across a beautiful young face as the horde of zombies finally broke through the protective veil of fire and charged the motionless target. It was then that the helicopter made a full turn, sweeping Hope out of Zoey's sight and whisking her away to the freedom she no longer wanted.

Zoey spilled out onto the hard, cold, unforgiving ground. Only her desperate, screamed cries for her lover to return to her echoed through the dark hangar. No one moved… not a sound was made as the girl curled up in a ball on the ground, hugging herself as she attempted pointlessly to warm herself the way she knew only Hope could. Every second the attempt failed dug her deeper into the hole of her misery.

Hope was gone… that was the only thing that mattered.

And there was only one person to blame. The person she should've killed from the very start.

Slowly, pathetically, Zoey rose to all fours, wavering back and forth as she resisted the urge to vomit where she was. "R-Ro…" she choked out through a sea of tears. "You…"

"I…" the woman's slow, pitiful voice echoed through the hangar. "I'm sorry… I don't know what came over me… I… I'm sorry…"

Sorry? Was sorry going to bring Hope back? Was sorry going to mend the hole that would forever be torn in her heart?

No. It wasn't.

"You…" Zoey repeated through clenched teeth and blind rage. "YOU!"

Without a moment of thought the girl snapped up into a weak stand and ripped her pistol out of its holster, matching the barrel to the image of Rochelle's terrified face. "YOU FUCKING RUINED MY LIFE!"

"Zoey! Wait!" the woman cried desperately as her bottom lip trembled violently. "I'm sorry! Please! I didn't know what I was thinking!"

"Sorry won't take it back!" Zoey screamed as she took a step forward, jamming the barrel of the pistol into Rochelle's forehead. The woman grunted as she was thrown to the ground but followed by the cold gaze of the Colt's iron sights. "SORRY WON'T FUCKING TAKE IT BACK!"

Zoey pulled the trigger.

The explosion rocked the hangar like a nuclear weapon, echoing eternally off the walls before coming to a final rest.

But there was no dead Rochelle. There was no pile of brain and skull where the girl had once laid. Instead, there was a bullet hole, carved forever into the ground as a mark of shame.

Zoey frantically looked around through tear-blinded eyes for where she was, and found that at the last second, Coach had jerked the woman up to safety… away from the justice that she so rightfully deserved.

"Killing her won't bring Hope back!" Coach's harsh voice came. "Rochelle made a mistake and she will be punished! But a life of a friend for the life of another will never be worth it!"

"You think so?" Zoey shrieked as she lifted the pistol to Coach's head, who flinched backwards. "YOU THINK SO?"

No one moved… no one was sure how to handle the situation. Was there really nothing to do but wait for Rochelle's imminent death?

Zoey shook her head as she slowly lowered the gun. "No… you're right," she admitted defeat as her nose served as a waterfall, dripping a stream of tears onto the cold ground below. "Killing Rochelle won't bring Hope back… and it won't bring me closer to her where she is now."

Sighs of relief were exchanged through the room as tense bodies relaxed.

Relaxed all too soon.

Zoey snapped the pistol up to her head, pushing the barrel into the hair that Hope had once fondled with such desire.

"ZOEY!" Francis's scream could be heard from above the slowly disappearing world that the girl was closing her eyes off from. "ZOEY STOP!"

"But I can go to her, I know I can," the woman spoke in a trance as she placed a finger on the trigger. "I can come to where she is… and I'll never be separated from her there."

A dull thud to the back of Zoey's neck stopped the pull of a trigger only a quarter second away from occurring. Her hand grew numb as it released the Colt from its steely grip. The pistol clattered heavily to the ground only a second before she joined it, the world going black as her head hit the ground.

Only one thought slipped into her mind before she slipped into darkness.

_I failed._

THE END

_PS: Don't forget the Epilogue! Thank you guys so much for reading through!_


	11. Epilogue

Bill lifted a cigarette to his lips before using his only silver butane lighter to blaze the tip. He took a long, satisfying drag as he placed locked the top of the light and stared at its dull, scarred face. The thing had been with him ever since he became a veteran—it had just as many scratches on its face as he had wrinkles on his.

It had been two weeks since the helicopter had saved them from a place that the veteran didn't even want to think about. It was then that the survivors had begun to assist Camp 17 with their recons, helping other people who might still be out there. However, Bill didn't do it out of compassion for other survivors as much as he did it to take his mind off of the place they had just recently escaped from. They had lost a lot of time… and they had lost a great person.

Bill sighed dismally as he shook his head, leaning forward from his reclined position in his chair. He rubbed his temples and blew out a thick puff of smoke as he tried to massage the horrible day away.

Zoey was the only one who hadn't gotten any better since Hope's death. She was under constant monitoring and had to be force fed just to stay alive. Though Rochelle was severely punished and put on heavy probation by the soldiers in Camp 17, as well as given the cold shoulder from her own teammates as well as everyone else, it didn't seem to bring justice to what she did that day. And no punishment other than a death as horrible as Bill knew Hope's was would even come close to even in anyone's mind.

Bill groaned as he took another deep drag of the cigarette in his shaking hand, leaning back in the chair as he tried to blow the thought out of his mind like the smoke in his lungs. Little disappointment came when it failed… miserably.

However, there he was nonetheless, in the same control room that EZ LZ had used to contact his own group of survivors when they were stranded on the rooftop. It was his shift to run the radio, though as he learned later on was kind of a joke. No one really ever expected a call… survivors were hard to come by as he later learned. The last people who had called in was his group… not a single other person since-

-the crack of static caused bill to nearly choke on his own cigarette. He immediately bolted forward in his chair as he grabbed the microphone and held down the receiver. "Hello? Hello?" he repeated. "This is The Vet from Camp 17, do you read? Is anyone there?"

Bill let go of the receiver, and only a second later was answered by a loud tap… and that was it. A single, loud tap. The vet grimaced at the possibility of a radio malfunction, but pursued the tap nonetheless. "Hello, this is The Vet. Does anyone read?"

Another tap came back as a reply, but this time it was followed by two more in quick succession. Bill narrowed his eyes—there was something going on. He raked his brain for any possibility before coming to the final conclusion: he was thinking too hard. Slowly, he held down the receiver and said, "Vet to Taptap," he bluntly dubbed the name, "Tap if you read."

A single tap came back on the radio before the static died back into silence. A sense of achievement swept over the older man's body before he continued, "Vet to Taptap, tap once if you are in a position where you cannot talk, twice if you can't talk at all."

Two taps returned.

It was only then that Bill remembered—the radio receiver frequency hadn't moved since Nick called from the rooftop that one day. The transmission… it was coming from the very place they were.

The veteran felt his body spike with adrenalin. He looked cautiously around the room, making sure that no one was within earshot as he leaned in closer to the microphone and whispered with a voice rigged with desperation:

"Hope?"

_Thank you guys! What happens from here is yours to interpret... until I post the sequel! If you want to keep your eyes out for it, it should be up relatively soon! Thank you guys so much for all your support through this long process ^^ It made it all worth it! _

_~Hearts! _

_Frostie_


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